


Oceanborn

by pseudosmodingium



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Creature Castiel (Supernatural), Fantasy, M/M, Men of Letters British Branch (Supernatural), Merman Castiel, Non-Penetrative Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-10-21 07:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20689994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudosmodingium/pseuds/pseudosmodingium
Summary: Born from the foam of the tempestuous sea, lightning forming their souls, their kind would illuminate the vast depths of the oceans and bring life and light to every corner of the aquatic. So the tale goes.There would be nothing too unusual about the stranger wandering the beach if it weren’t for his apparent lack of clothes. When his curiosity about the naked man gets him into trouble, Dean finds there is much more mystery to him than his inclination towards nudism. In fact, Castiel, as he calls himself, turns out to be a genuine merman who, come night, grows a fish tail. With his general fascination for mystical creatures and fairy tales and Castiel’s lovable character, Dean falls hard for him.His days spent with the merman could be blissful if it weren’t for evil men with a taste for hunting supernatural beings and the countdown of days until Castiel’s transformation into human form ceases and their inevitable farewell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This got three times as long as I had planned—over 30k words in fact. I never intended for this to become a multi-chapter fic but here we are. Welcome to my modern day fantasy merman AU!
> 
> Title taken from the Nightwish album of the same name.

The moon is standing high, almost at her prime, the crisp springtime air burning in his lungs as he breathes heavily while running down the road. He rounds the corner to Elm Street, traverses Oakwood Lane and crosses the bridge, boards creaking under his feet as he hastens towards the edge of the forest. He follows the pathway along the river. In the dark he can barely see the water, though its steady flow is his only companion tonight. Gravel crunches beneath his sneakers as he races farther and farther away from town. He can already hear the sound of the ocean washing ashore, smell the salt in the air.

He stops. The sea appears agitated before him, slapping waves against dark rock formations in anger. Dean can feel the rage it resonates, pulsing through his veins, and his throat is sore from all the running and gulping down the cold of the night.

Dean is angry. He hasn’t felt this strongly in forever. He hasn’t felt anything. He was too scared to let himself feel.

The rage is building up in him, scorching hot in his stomach, in his chest, finding its way out into the open and Dean feels like he’s about to burst. Tears stream down his face as he attempts to scream. His voice is weak from disuse and he’s hoarse despite hardly emitting a sound.

His next try is more successful. Dean’s been silent long enough. He hasn’t spoken in almost a year. There was nothing to say. But now that anger has taken over the grief, he wants to let everything out. No counselor achieved what rage can do now.

He shouts out all that he’s been bottling up, all that he didn’t dare to think about. He screams at the sky, the stars, demanding them to bring her back, to bring back his mom. It isn’t fair.

“It’s not fair,” Dean whispers now, the collar of his shirt soaked in tears, snot dripping past his lips into his mouth but he doesn’t care. _It’s not fair…_

He sits on the ground, arms slung around his legs, to watch the surf roll landwards from a safe distance. The night sky is wide but it is impossible to tell where it ends and the ocean begins. He looks out for shooting stars, hoping to make a wish, though the blinking dots above him remain unmoving.

Dean’s throat hurts so bad he probably won’t be able to speak for another year now and he begins to rub away the crusts on his cheeks and around his eyes, the traces of dried tears. He wishes he could just stay here forever and never have to talk to any grown-ups again. They annoy him. They ask all the wrong questions and if he doesn’t respond like he’s supposed to, they’ll get mad at him. His teachers got mad at him. Dad got mad at him. He’ll get mad at him again for running away.

The sea has calmed a little and Dean takes one of the pebbles next to him and throws it as far as he can but it only barely reaches the surf. He stands up with a handful of pebbles now and walks closer towards the water. With a dull splash, each stone plumps into the ocean. Dean runs out quickly of throwing material but he isn’t really in the mood for this anyway. Then, there’s another splash. Dean can’t see what causes it but assumes one of his pebbles must’ve bounced from a wave, which is a pretty cool thing to see, actually. Dad used to teach him to find the perfect shape of stone and how to throw it.

Dean keeps staring out at the ocean. There’s a wave that’s bigger than the others but what’s funny is that it’s not moving nearer. It stays perfectly still where it is now. Dean rises onto the tips of his toes but it’s too dark to see. Maybe it’s a fish. Or a dolphin. Or an orca, though Dean doesn’t think they’re coming this close to the beach.

He doesn’t dare to move and risk scaring it away, whatever kind of animal it is, if it even is an animal. He stays still long enough to reason he must be imagining it, mistaking a shadow cast in the dim moonlight for a living thing, only to be taught otherwise when the mysterious creature begins to emit a strange, icy-blue glow.

The moment is so fleeting, Dean isn’t even sure this just really happened. But it has to, doesn’t it? He can’t have been dreaming. He’s wide awake and cold, as he realizes now, and the soreness in his throat is still agonizing. Then, there’s a splash yet again and Dean can clearly see a fishtail disappear beneath the surface of the dark ocean, a thousand tiny fractals made out of fish scales reflecting the moonlight as it does so.

So it was a fish after all. A very big fish. A fish that glows at night. Dean has seen jellyfish that glow on TV, though they don’t have tails like the one he just saw.

He’s freezing by now and maybe, if he’s really, really quiet, Dad won’t catch him sneaking back into the house. He should return here tomorrow, in daylight. Maybe he can lure the fish back in sight with some food. He won’t tell Dad, though, because then he’d know where Dean has been all night and he won’t believe anyway that he saw a giant fish that glows in the dark.

As the boy turns and disappears back to where he came from, the creature dares to resurface its head once again, hidden behind a rock now. What he did before was unwise and careless. He let himself be witnessed by a human, though it was an innocent child; a child that seemed upset for some reason, even if the creature can’t fathom how one can possibly be upset in a night like this, lights shimmering on the firmament.

Silently, the creature counts the moons until it can walk those mysterious but dangerous lands again.

***

Missouri’s esoterica shop isn’t exactly his first choice to exhibit at as the serious artist he wants to be, though, considering his options here, this is the best he can get. Especially after Cain’s already rebuffed his proposal. “Vacationers come to my gallery to take a piece of this picturesque landscape home with them. They don’t need something to frighten them.” _You frighten them,_ Dean had thought in response.

Dean prefers ink to oil and motifs coming from his imagination rather than places he sees on a daily basis, so what. He could be a landscape painter if he wanted to. He could try to appeal to the average summer tourist’s taste. However, Dean much rather brings fairy tales, mystic creatures and eldritch horrors to paper. He’s been quite successful in selling prints and original pieces over the internet but he feels like he needs to make his art known to a broader audience and get out of his tiny niche in the web. And he also wants to bring forward his wood carvings. Currently, they’re only being exhibited in his front yard, which is rather unfortunate as he lives on the very edge of town where hardly any tourist ever ends up going.

“You can arrange your drawings however you like on this wall,” Missouri says, “and that wall. I’ll rearrange the dreamcatchers a little to make room for your art.” The crystals and amulets around her wrists and neck clink as she moves, gesturing Dean where to put something. Maybe this place isn’t so bad after all. People believing in healing powers of minerals and magic pendants might be allured by his fantastic creations as well.

“Thank you, Missouri, really. You’re doing me a huge favor,” he says.

“Please,” she says, placing a hand above her heart, “it is an honor to host our town’s most talented artist in my humble business.” Her overly dramatic speech evokes a laugh from Dean.

“Better don’t phrase it like that to Cain’s face,” he says.

“I’m not afraid of Cain,” she says in an almost offended, high-pitched voice. “He thinks he’s someone but no-one ever heard of him on the other side of the river. People only buy his paintings because that’s what tourists do—they buy trivial stuff in their holiday stupor to remind them of places like this.”

“You think his pieces are crap?”

“I think they’re bland. Nothing special about them.” She takes a step closer towards him, reaching out a hand to place on his shoulder. “But you, Dean, what you do is unique. You have your own style, you’re imaginative,” she sighs, “your mother would be so proud of you.”

Dean clenches his jaw at the mention of her but relaxes his face in favor of forming a smile for Missouri. “You’re too kind,” he says.

Then, she says, “And when you’re famous, I can say I’m the one who discovered you.”

After leaving the shop, Dean reckons it’s a perfect day to take a walk down to the beach and draw some inspiration for his next works. It’s a sunny spring day and he is certain to be the only person by the sea today. In the summer, it’s usually not much different, though. People come to hike and visit a small and relaxed town in the Pacific Northwest. This place, however, isn’t exactly a tourist hotspot and Dean likes it this way.

He’s always loved the place he lives in. There’s the forest, starting right behind his property. Sometimes a small deer will find its way inside his yard and Dean will watch it through the kitchen window, trying not to startle it by abrupt movements. In the north, the town is bordered by the river, a single bridge leading onto the road that cuts through deep woods. The next, bigger town is a twenty-five minute drive away. It’s not exactly the middle of nowhere but close enough.

The river then flows into the ocean and this, the wide and deep blue, accompanied by a salty breeze, this is what he loves most about his home. This is where old gods came to reconquer the earth in his Cthulhu series, emerging from furious seas out into lashing rainstorms, impelled to inflict their wrath unto humanity.

To his surprise, Dean isn’t alone today. He sees someone on the beach from afar as he approaches. This someone doesn’t appear to notice him at first but therefore Dean notices something not insignificant about him: The man—most definitely a man—is naked and Dean ponders whether to wait for him to get decent or just make himself noticeable by coughing loudly. This is a public place after all and the man can’t be too worried about getting caught. His clothes, at least, are nowhere to be seen.

Dean opts for taking a sharp turn and descends onto the beach a few yards away. The man is now climbing onto the rocks that are scattered near the shoreline, offsets that mount into impressive rock formations which hang from a steep cliff. Parts of these rocks are razor-sharp and, indecency be screwed, Dean looks out for him, hoping he won’t get cuts on his bare feet. He’s not a local, as far as Dean can tell. Locals certainly wouldn’t be so careless. The sea is not actually calm today and Dean can’t stand to watch this any longer.

“Hey!” Dean shouts possibly inaudibly for the rock climber. In a jog, he moves closers towards the north end of the beach, hoping to get the guy out of danger without him making a fuss about it.

“Hey!” Dean shouts again. “Man, what you’re doing is really risky!”

With an expression of shock on his face, the guy turns his head, obviously noticing Dean’s presence only now. Instead of listening to Dean’s words, though, he starts to make his way farther out towards the ocean. Dean thinks he’s crazy. He must be, wandering this dangerous path, completely naked.

He’s really far out by now and Dean feels helpless. If something happens, it’s this guy’s own fault but Dean won’t leave until he’s safely back on the beach again. Just as he’s finished the thought, a high wave hits the rock he’s currently standing on, and when the sea withdraws the man has disappeared.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, pulls out his phone and dials 911.

Hours have passed without any news—good or bad—and Dean wishes he hadn’t turned down the EMT guy’s offer of a blanket. He needn’t have waited here to find out what has become of the naked rock climber but somehow Dean felt like it was his obligation to stay here rather than going home and process what he witnessed today. When he looks up, he sees Sheriff Mills approaching him.

“Did you find him?” Dean says.

The sheriff shakes her head. “We’re calling off the search,” she says.

“Just like that? He’s still out there somewhere. Maybe he’s still alive.”

“Dean,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, “not only didn’t we find a body, there’s also no sign there even was someone. There are no clothes, no car, and if there actually was this naked man you saw, he’s gone. There’s no chance he survived hours in the freezing cold ocean.”

Dean runs a hand through his hair. He feels like all blood is draining from his face. “I didn’t imagine him. I know what I saw.”

“I believe you, Dean,” the sheriff says, “still, there’s no sign of him. We need to face the facts. His body might wash ashore in a few days if the current doesn’t carry him elsewhere.”

Dean doesn’t want to take that possibility into consideration. He isn’t ready yet. “Maybe he was on a boat,” he says, “maybe that’s why you couldn’t find his clothes.”

“There is no boat, Dean,” Sheriff Mills says. Hesitantly, she lays a hand on his arm and squeezes it lightly. “Go home now. There’s nothing you can do.”

Dean wants to argue but her stern look stops him from doing so. “Thanks, Jody,” he says.

“If you need anything, you know where to find me,” she offers and Dean gives her an assuring nod.

The way home feels longer than usual. He has walked it often, the path between the beach and his house, but today it just seems to be dragging on forever and it doesn’t help that his toes and fingers have become numb from the cold. Actually, it was quite a sunny day, though the wind by the shore caused him some discomfort.

He saw someone die today (assumingly), he realizes, and he could do nothing to prevent it from happening. Maybe they’ll never even know what has become of the man or where he came from and why he was exploring the beach naked. Nudists are a thing, for sure, but it’s not summer yet and they usually don’t show up here.

Finally, Dean sees his house coming closer. His car is still parked there and everything is where he left it. He briefly inspects his wooden sculptures as he walks past them in his front yard. He forgot to ask Missouri if he could display one or two of these in her shop as well.

After a long hot shower and a warm, home-cooked dinner he feels better. Then, he finds himself sitting at his desk and starting to sketch. The scenery looks familiar but the story it tells is new. There is a man standing on the rocks, casting a cautious look over his shoulders towards the viewer. He is entirely nude. It’s only a rough idea, no details, a first draft, though Dean might elaborate. His art draws from genuine emotions, mostly fear, curiosity or anger. This moment he captured makes him feel all of those.

His hand almost slips at the sudden chime of his phone. For a split second he dares to hope it’s Jody, about to tell him they found the guy and he’s alright, but it’s his brother’s name that flashes on the screen.

“Sam, what’s up?” he drawls.

“Nothing,” Sam says, “just checking in, making sure you’re alright.”

They call each other almost every day if they haven’t seen each other in person anyway but this is not how his brother would usually start the conversation.

“You talked to Jody, didn’t you?” he deduces.

“I ran into her at the store,” he says, starting to defend himself, “we were only having a brief chat and she mentioned something about you probably witnessing a drowning.”

Why do small town folks always have to gossip so much? Even the sheriff the does it.

“I’m fine,” Dean says because that’s obviously what his brother wanted to hear.

“You sure?” Sam says. He’s not buying it. “It’s not like you see someone die right in front of you every day.”

“We don’t know if he’s dead yet,” Dean says, “they haven’t found a body.”

“Jody says it’s very likely,” Sam insists.

“Did she say anything else?” Dean asks. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s a hint of doubt in her. They couldn’t find any trace of the guy ever being there after all.

“Only that they’ll keep an eye out for missing persons reports. They still don’t know who the guy was or where he might have come from given that they couldn’t find any personal items.”

“This is all so messed up,” Dean says, scribbling absently on his drawing. “Nothing ever happens here.”

“It must have been a shock to see this. Do you want me to drop by?” Sam offers.

“I told you I’m fine,” Dean says and Sam doesn’t press any further.

He takes a new sheet of paper after they’ve hung up and begins to outline his new work properly to later trace it with ink. This is very different from what he normally does. Maybe it’ll be the beginning of a new series.

֍֍֍

The sea is calm today. The man Dean saw two days ago remains a mystery and he has been itching to investigate. Translating this traumatic experience into art helped but only time will tell if he got over it. He didn’t even know the man, never spoke to him. Still, there is a story behind all this and Dean is intent on making one up. He’s been speculating, not gotten over the theory that he must have come from a boat, maybe pirates had held him captive and he managed to escape only to find his demise soon after. Townsfolk think he might have been mentally ill which would explain the nakedness. Perhaps it wasn’t an accident after all. Dean is not a writer, no, though his drawings tell tales as well and this particular one he’s especially interested in, whatever it might be.

There’s probably a reasonable explanation, Sam says, and he might be right. Dean, however, has always been drawn to the more obscure. Those things only happen in books and movies, sometimes out in the real world but never here. It’s a tragedy, of course, though to Dean it’s also an adventure. As a child he dreamt of going on treasure hunts, fight bad guys, be a hero. However, a hero he is not. He couldn’t save the man and the only evil monsters he encounters are trapped between the pages of his sketchbooks.

The sun is shining again today. It’s quiet except for the ever-present cry of the seagulls. He is on his own this time, strolling along the beach, breathing in the salt and tang of the ocean. As he advances the rock towards the end where the man disappeared, Dean can’t resist the strong urge to scout the scene. He doesn’t know what he hopes to find but before he can ponder too long on the thought, he starts to carefully put one foot in front of the other on the uneven stone. He tries to steady himself with one hand on the bigger rocks next to him but their edges are sharp and slippery. When they were kids, they would often come out here, seeking the thrill of the forbidden. Dean got grounded for three weeks once after Dad had caught them. He was furious with his eldest son not only endangering himself but also his little brother who he was meant to look out for. Other children did it too and back then they never realized how lucky they were that nothing bad ever happened. Now this stupidity has taken its first victim.

He has come really far out, Dean realizes. Turning slightly, he looks back towards the beach. Still, no-one is around and it only now occurs to him that he is doomed should he loose his footing. What would he give for his childish naivety now…

He comes to the conclusion that it’s probably for the best to head back now and warily takes a step behind. It’s been going well so far and then he remembers why he came out here in the first place. Dean stops about where he thinks the man was seized by the ocean. There’s no blood or anything, all evidence there might have been long swept away. No items of clothing either. If the man had left them out here, the coast guard would have found them.

This is ridiculous. There is no adventure. A tragedy occurred and he was the sad bastard unlucky enough to witness it. He’s not going to find anything. He’s not going to be a hero and save the day. He should stick to what he knows he can do and that is making art.

His supporting hand touches a pointy end and he hisses in pain. There’s no visible scratch, though, and Dean continues his slow clamber back towards even ground. One mindful step after another he proceeds, only to lose his balance anyway and scrape over wet rock with his shin, ripping open his jeans and his skin on the razor-sharp surface. It hurts like hell but Dean bites on his tongue. He can wallow in pain when he’s made it back onto the beach. He manages to get back onto both feet again for a second and then his sole meets a big pile of nothing. His heart drops as soon as he realizes this is not how it was meant to go, his hand slipping from the stone in a desperate attempt to avert disaster and then his entire body gets swallowed by threatening coldness. He’s paralyzed by an overwhelming urge to breathe in, gulping down sea water, lungs burning, and then he imagines hands grasping him and he’s being pulled far, far away into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

He’s throwing up water through his mouth and nose, the salt burning in his throat and the bitter taste of the sea making him nauseous. Then it’s cold again, so cold, but it’s a different kind than before. The sweet, sweet taste of oxygen makes up for it, though. He can breathe and his eyes flinch when they meet the brightness of the day. He’s alive! And there’s someone sitting beside him, Dean can feel their presence but it takes him a while to focus. It’s a man. He’s got dark hair, it’s wet. Then Dean notices the eyes—they’re beautiful, curious, deep as the ocean and Dean is drowning for the second time today but he doesn’t mind at all.

Somehow, Dean has found the strength to sit up. His wet clothes are heavy and cling to his skin and he examines the spot where he ripped his jeans earlier. It’s odd, though. He remembers the pain and he’s perfectly sure there was blood, except now there isn’t even as much as a scratch. He turns to face the man next to him again and, oh boy, he’s naked and Dean’s gaze accidentally rests between his legs half a second too long. He’s well-equipped, though, but that is an unrelated fact to his current situation. The man hasn’t spoken a word yet.

Dean clears his throat, trying to swallow down the awful flavor of ocean water. “Did you just save my life?” he asks.

The man tilts his head to the side, watching him with intent and then it hits him. This is the guy—the naked guy who supposedly died two days ago. “How did you….,” Dean murmurs, more to himself than directed at the naked rock climber.

“I guess I… Thank you, man. I would be fish dinner by now without you,” he says. His entire body is trembling. “How about we go someplace warm, get some hot coffee?”

Dean feels wobbly on his feet but manages to stand on his own and the stranger follows his lead. “Dude,” he says, trying not to drop his gaze below the man’s waistline. Instead, Dean takes off his jacket and flannel shirt and wraps the shirt around the man’s hips, sort of like a loincloth. The man doesn’t protest.

“It’s wet, I know,” Dean says, “but I got to make you look decent.” The man says nothing.

“You’re not much of a talker, aren’t you?” Dean huffs a laugh. “_Can_ you talk? You speak English?” The man frowns. “Can you hear me? Hear, you understand?” Dean says, pointing at his ear. The man nods. “Good to have that settled at least.”

He follows Dean like he’s supposed to. Gladly, Dean drove here today and rounds the Impala to get to the driver’s side and opens the door. The man stares at him, unmoving.

“Dude,” Dean says, “get in the car. I swear I won’t bite.”

When nothing happens, Dean rolls his eyes, reaches over the bench and opens the passenger side door from the inside. After he sits, the guy gently brushes his fingers over the dashboard.

“Pretty cool, isn’t she?” Dean says. “1967 Chevy Impala. I call her Baby.”

The man casts him a friendly look but remains silent, so Dean starts the engine and drives off. He knows exactly where he’s taking him. Maybe he’ll speak if interrogated by a police officer.

“So that’s him?” Jody says again after Dean has told her the whole story. She already scolded him for going out onto the rocks and nearly dying.

They’re watching him through the window of Jody’s office door. The man is now dressed in clothes from the department’s lost and found box: gray sweatpants, a T-shirt that is much too big on him and two unmatching flip-flops, only one of which is actually his size. He’s looking around curiously but remains sitting on the chair opposite Jody’s desk as he was told to. He obviously understands what they’re saying but hasn’t spoken a word of his own yet.

Although he followed Dean freely, leaving the car at the sheriff’s station appeared to make him anxious. There aren’t many people around but Dean could still sense his tenseness. However, it only took him a brief moment of hesitance to enter when Dean held the door for him. The officer having front desk duty couldn’t believe her eyes when she was told who the man was and immediately called for Sheriff Mills.

“Yup,” Dean says, “do you think you can get him to talk?”

“I’m going to try,” Jody says. “But I can’t force him to. I can’t even keep him here if he wants to leave. He didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t you want to know who he is, where he came from?”

“We’ve uploaded his photo and his fingerprints into our databases but if nothing comes up and no-one reports him missing…” She trails off. The man has turned around in his chair and is smiling at Dean through the window. Reassuringly, Dean smiles back.

“What are you going to do with him? Where is he supposed to stay?” Dean asks.

“Well, I don’t really want to put him in a cell.”

Dean bites the insides of his cheeks. “Maybe he was held captive all of his life and that’s why he doesn’t talk.”

“He looks too strong and tan to have been hidden away in someone’s basement.”

“Maybe we should try and talk to him again,” Dean suggests and in response Jody opens the door and walks into her office.

“So,” she says and rounds her desk. Dean gently closes the door behind him as not to startle him. “Look, you’re not in trouble. On the contrary—you just saved this man’s life.” Dean comes to stand next to him. “We just want to help you but you gotta give us something. Let’s start with a name.”

The man stares at her like he has just been threatened.

“Hey,” Dean says, “it’s okay. There’s no need to be shy.” The man’s eyes are fixed on him now and slowly, Dean leans towards him and cautiously puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’m Dean. Dean Winchester,” he says, placing his other hand on his chest. “And this is Sheriff Jody Mills. As she said before, we just want to help. Do you want to tell us your name…please?”

The man looks down at his lap, pursing his lips. Dean shoots Jody a look. Then he says, “It’s okay. No pressure. Whenever you feel like it.”

Jody sighs. “Look, Dean, I should make some calls. Maybe I can find someone who’ll recognize him. How about you take care of him meanwhile?”

“What am I supposed to do with him?”

“I don’t know. But he seems to trust you more than anyone around here and he saved you. Unless… I guess I could arrest him for public nudity.”

“No!” Dean blurts out. He doesn’t deserve to be locked up. Jody’s right; Dean owes him. “Should I take him home with me or what?”

“Good call,” Jody says, “as I’ve mentioned before, I have no idea where to put him anyway, except for a cell.”

Dean rubs his mouth, thinking. He wanted to be a hero so badly, perhaps this is his chance. “Alright, fine,” he says and gives the stranger’s shoulder a pat. “Come on, buddy. Let the Sheriff get some work done.”

“Call me if you need anything,” Jody says as she walks them to the exit, “or if he decides to talk.”

This time, the man manages to open the passenger side door by himself. It’s only a short drive up to his house. After they’ve left the car, the man walks by Dean’s sculptures with interest but he doesn’t feel like starting a conversation about them now, although he normally seizes every small opportunity he gets to talk about his artworks. Now, he can’t wait to get out of his damp clothes and finally take a hot shower. It’s been less than two hours since he almost drowned in the freezing ocean. The coffee at the sheriff’s station made it bearable, though he gets why the officers usually buy their coffee at the diner. It warmed him up from the inside, yes, but it didn’t taste much better than the sea water he swallowed.

“Welcome to my humble house,” he says. “Not to be impolite but I got to go shower first. I am cold and gross and when I’m done, I can start taking care of you. You can sit here on the sofa, get comfy. I won’t be long, I promise.”

He scrubs the salt from his skin and rinses his hair, starting to feel like an actual human being again. So much has happened today already and this day isn’t over yet. There’s a stranger sitting in his living room whom Dean wanted to have rescued so badly and now it was him who got rescued instead. He walks out into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his hips, only to find his life saver standing in the doorway.

“Man, what are you doing here? I’m not dressed yet.” The man doesn’t say anything and just keeps staring.

“I get that you’ve got no issues with nudity but I prefer to put on pants without an audience,” Dean says.

When the man doesn’t move, Dean sighs and just steps into his boxer briefs with the towel still on, like a shy boy in the locker room. “You’re weird,” he says and puts on a fresh pair of jeans and a henley.

“Okay,” Dean says then, “your turn.” Dean gestures him where he’s supposed to go. “Body wash, shampoo, is all in there, you can use it. There’s also a towel for you.”

The guy looks over his shoulder, clueless. Dean can’t believe that he actually needs to explain this but anyway he says, “You get naked, you know, as you obviously prefer to be, then you turn it on here. You’ll figure it out.” He closes the door and is relieved when he hears the shower being turned on.

In the meantime, Dean rummages through his closet and finds a pair of jeans that have always been on the baggier side but reckons will fit the guy, a plain black T-shirt and an old hoodie. He also unearths some well-worn sneakers that used to belong to Sam and will hopefully be big enough, considering the size of his…feet.

The water is being turned off and not much later, his guest steps out of the bathroom, still mostly wet and with the towel around his hips like Dean had done it before.

Dean takes a deep breath at the sight of him before clearing his throat and saying, “Look, I’ve found you some clothes. They’re not great but still better than the garbage you got at the Sheriff’s station.” Dean scratches the back of his head, avoiding the stranger’s curious gaze. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says and heads out the door.

A few minutes pass, enough for Dean to consider going back and asking if the guy needs any help, but comes to the conclusion that this would be weird and opts for rather making fresh coffee and sandwiches. Gladly, the man emerges from his bedroom not much later, fully dressed.

“Hey,” Dean says, “I thought you might be hungry. I’m starving. Sandwich?” He offers the man a plate who eagerly accepts it and starts to inspect the meal with interest.

Dean takes a bite, hoping to finally get rid of the godawful taste of ocean water, and his guest decides to try it as well. He seems concentrated as he chews, like it’s all new flavors to him. Almost as if he’s never had a sandwich before.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Dean says in an effort to make some conversation. The man looks at him with big eyes and takes another, greedy bite. They finish the rest of their sandwiches in silence but Dean can’t take his eyes off him all the while. The guy’s mannerisms are just so odd, out of this world. Everything is.

When Dean is putting their plates into the sink, the man takes an interest in Dean’s workspace. He closely studies a piece of his Cthulhu series on the wall—one of Dean’s personal favorites—and then catches his eyes, smiling.

“Yeah, I like it, too,” Dean says and walks over to him. “Have you read H.P. Lovecraft?” The guy frowns. “No? Well, you should. If you’re into that kind of thing, that is.”

Then, the drawings on the desk seem to pique his interest and of course the last thing Dean has been working on is the rock climber. The guy shoots him a look. Dean coughs as if that’ll make it less awkward. “That’s you, yes,” he confesses the obvious.

The man picks up the piece of paper and traces a finger along the lines. “It’s still a work in progress,” Dean says, feeling himself blush. Then, something else comes to his mind. “I thought I saw you die that day.” The movement of the man’s finger stops. He looks at Dean, his face serious. “I wanted to find you, hoping there might be a chance you made it regardless of what I had witnessed. Instead you came to save my life.”

The man puts down the paper, turning his back. “What were you doing out there anyway? Why are you always naked? Where do you come from?” He flees to the corner of the room, arms wrapped around his head to shield himself from Dean’s questions. He immediately regrets pushing the guy but there is so much he needs to know.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says and cautiously moves towards him until he’s close enough to put a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. You don’t have to tell me anything, if you don’t want to. Although I’d really like to help you and it would be easier if I knew your name or what you’ve been up to. Man, I owe you my life. Please, let me help you.”

Slowly, the guy’s arms drop to his sides and he turns around. “Castiel,” he says and Dean is taken by surprise not only by the fact that he can talk but also by the roughness of his voice.

“You….uh,” Dean exhales, short of breath. He can talk, can he? Or has Dean just misheard?

“My name is Castiel,” he repeats. “You are Dean Winchester.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “I am.” He needs to sit before his knees give in. Castiel follows him and takes a seat next to him on the couch.

“That’s…that’s an interesting name you have, Castiel.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything.

“Why didn’t you talk sooner? Why didn’t you want to talk to Sheriff Mills?”

“I have to be wary. Of people. People are not very nice when I meet them. I prefer to stay by myself.”

“Yeah, people can be dicks. But around here, most of them are really friendly and kind. You don’t have to worry about anyone.”

“I was scared when you saw me. Therefore I disappeared. Then you sent people looking for me.”

“Because I was worried about you. I thought you might have been hurt. Or worse.”

“You were looking for me because you thought I was hurt?” Castiel’s eyes are fixed on him, blue as ever.

“What did you think? You vanished from that rock after being hit by a wave. That really stressed me out.”

“I see,” Castiel says, looking down at his lap.

“Care to tell me now why you were there in the first place, in the nude?”

“I was curious about the beach,” he says.

“He was curious,” Dean sighs, “okay. And what about your clothes?”

“Do you live here on your own?” Castiel says, evading the question, and gets up from the couch.

“I do,” Dean says and follows suit, “do you live alone as well?”

“I used to stay close to my kin but that was a long time ago. I value my solitude.”

“I can get behind that,” Dean says. “My brother lives here in town and we see each other regularly but I’m glad to have a house of my own.” He considers asking Castiel where he’s from again, although he knows he won’t get an answer. Instead, he focuses in Castiel’s speech pattern and intonation but isn’t able to detect any kind of accent he could attribute to him. His talk is stilted, somewhat old-fashioned.

“Why do you make these?” Castiel says, back at studying Dean’s drawings.

“Why?” Dean breathes. “Because I want to? Because I can?” Those are silly answers. Definitely not what he would say if being asked by an art dealer or a critic. “I have a vivid imagination and I like to tell stories. I want to share those stories, get them out of my head so everyone can see them, get engaged.”

“What is the story behind this one?” Castiel says and once again picks up one his Dean’s rock climber sketches.

Dean takes a deep inhale, trying to choose one. “I don’t know,” he says honestly, “there are a few versions. Maybe he’s a castaway. Maybe he’s a prisoner who managed to escape. Maybe he’s in some kind of…emotional trouble and he might not really be aware of what he’s doing.” _Or maybe he’s just playing out an elaborate joke._

Castiel hums as if he’s thinking, trying to find a theory to favor. “What else?” he says.

“Huh?” Dean gives him a side-glance, questioning.

“What else could it be?” Castiel says “What’s the tale of his life?”

Dean crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I’ve told you my theories. I don’t know. He’s a mystery. What do you think, Castiel? Why don’t _you_ tell me what’s up with him?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He seems nervous. “Maybe he’s got a secret that could jeopardize his life if anyone was to find out.”

Dean’s face darkens. Is this a cry for help? _Maybe he’s a spy!_ How did he even consider for a second that Castiel was his real name? It sounds so made up anyway.

“And who could it be, who could mean any to harm him?”

“Everyone, possibly, if they were to find out the truth,” Castiel says.

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Dean blurts out, “I’m in your debt.” They should stop pretending they’re still talking about a picture.

“You say that now,” Castiel says, looking down on the floor, “yet you could change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Dean promises. He’s so close, he can feel it, to getting behind Castiel’s mystery.

Then, Castiel turns his back on him. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he says. Dean lets out a sigh. He won’t get anywhere if he keeps digging, he knows that. Perhaps, he’ll come around, confide in him. Sometime.

“Then what else would you like to talk about?” Dean suggests.

“You,” Cas says, spinning around with excitement, just as if he’s been waiting to be asked this all along.

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Me?” he says. “I’m afraid there isn’t much to tell. You’ve seen my house, my art, I already told you I have a brother in town. I’m not that interesting.”

Castiel’s expression of delight is turning into a pout. “I disagree,” he says.

“Well, then you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean replies, evoking a slight twitch from Castiel. He didn’t mean for it to sound so petty. It’s as if they have a competition going on who’s more closed up.

Dean walks back to the couch to sit again, Castiel following his lead. “Listen,” Dean says, laying his hands on his thighs, “I think we should be having a two-sided conversation. I tell you something about myself, you tell me something about you. Understand?”

Castiel purses his lips for a second but then he gives Dean an affirmative nod.

“Okay,” Dean starts, “as you know, I have a brother. His name is Sam and he lives here as well. He’s heading the local library. I’ve always lived here, ever since I was a little kid. I work as a freelance artist. I haven’t had my big breakthrough yet, but I get by, mostly though due to commissioned works. My internet following is quite substantial.”

He pauses. He’s given Castiel a fairly big chunk of information. Now it’s his turn.

It takes him a while to get the message but eventually Castiel says, “I have lived in many places all around the world, though I’ve always been curious about…about something. Something I hadn’t had the opportunity to visit yet. There have been a few occasions but they never lasted long and people always disappointed me. I think might just have to lower my expectations.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s been let down by people, too. When he was a child, there was nothing he wanted more than get away from here and never look back. Almost thirty years later he hasn’t gone anywhere. His adventures only take place on paper.

“Sounds like you’re a restless soul, in constant search of a place you can call home.”

“I should be content with what I have,” Castiel says, “but my world is getting smaller and smaller. Things have been changing for quite a while. There is no place for someone like me in a world like this anymore.”

“Dude,” Dean exhales, “what does that even mean?”

Jumping from the couch, Castiel pronounces, “Would you show me around? I gather you live near the woods.” Apparently, their heart-to-heart is over.

“Alright,” Dean says and claps his hands together. “Let’s go for a walk.” He throws on the flannel shirt that has been hanging over his desk chair and leads Castiel out the door.

“Technically,” he says, “the woods start right here at the end of my backyard. Come on.” When it’s warmer, he likes to sit outside in the sun and draw fairy tales or sinister creatures, lurking in the depths of the forest. Sometimes he and Sam will make a campfire, drink a couple of beers and have a nice talk. From time to time, there are fireflies. When it’s night and all kinds of critters become active, Dean’s imagination peaks. In the distance there’s the gentle murmur of the river, a soft whir moving through tree branches, leaves rustling, maybe the steady call of an owl on lookout for prey.

“I love nature,” Dean says, “it fills you with gratitude to have something like this around you. The buzz of a city stresses me out, to be honest. This here, it makes you think, reflect on the world we have and haven’t got anymore—you know, I guess I understand now, what you said before. A place like this, we should value it more.”

“It is beautiful,” Castiel agrees. They haven’t even made it to the river yet.

“You’re easy to impress,” Dean notices with a smirk. It’s kind of mesmerizing to watch Castiel’s sheer fascination. He must be from a big city with all pavement and tall buildings and traffic jams.

As they cross the bridge out of town, Dean realizes he hasn’t really got a plan. They’re not equipped for a hike and the purpose of this excursion was a leisure walk, an hour or two maximum. Dean might be getting down with a cold after his near-experience in the chilly ocean today and he should rather not strain himself. And Castiel—Dean isn’t even sure his shoes fit him properly, although he hasn’t complained yet.

“I’ll show you something,” Dean says and takes the path east. He hasn’t gone this way in a while but it’s one of his favorite places out here and somehow he feels Castiel is worth sharing it with.

His companion’s pace is slowing them down a bit but it doesn’t matter. They’re in no hurry and it’s not far anyway. Even if they stay a while, they’ll be home before nightfall.

They’ve left the path a few minutes ago but Dean knows exactly where he’s going. He and Sam used to come out here all the time when they were kids. The whoosh of swift moving water gets louder and Dean can feel the moistness in the air. It’s much cooler here, shadowy, when they reach the small pool hidden behind thick bushes. The waterfall is busy, carrying meltwater from the mountains and giving the stream a nice turquoise color. In the summer, it’s still cool but warm enough to be splashing around in there. When he was a teenager, Dean used to take his dates out here—the daughters and sons of tourists—sometimes at night as a romantic gesture or for the excitement of doing something forbidden. By the end of the school holidays they would be gone and Dean could come out here again, unbothered.

“The river runs underground for half a mile from there. Sometimes I come out here to draw or just enjoy the sounds of nature. It’s quite loud up there, right by the waterfall, but down here at the pool you can still hear your own thoughts.”

“Is it deep?” Castiel asks.

“The pool? I don’t know. Safe enough to dive in head first. But trying to reach the bottom can be risky, I guess, ‘cause that’s where the stream has quite some force—at least now, in the spring, and after heavy rainfall up in the mountains.”

Castiel shrugs his shoulders. “I am a good swimmer,” he says.

Dean snorts. “I know. But don’t underestimate it.”

They’re both staring up at the waterfall, hypnotized. It’s been a while since Dean brought someone here. “Let’s sit,” he says with a quick rub along Castiel’s shoulders.

Dean finds them the trunk of a fallen tree that’s not too moist and mossy. He doesn’t feel the need to talk with Castiel by his side. It’s peaceful out here and Dean doesn’t care about more questions to remain unanswered.

They sit still, quiet, for some time and then, on the other side of the pool, a deer appears from the thicket, wary, but unaware of them. It lowers its head by the pool and starts to drink. Then, suddenly, its head shoots up, looking in their direction. Dean’s eyes keep switching between the deer and Castiel, hoping for him to stay unmoving. The deer goes back to quenching its thirst. After a minute, it’s had enough and vanishes under the shrubs again.

Dean can’t help but squeeze Castiel’s arm in relief. He lets out a breath. “I can never get enough of experiences like these. Cas, have you ever seen something like this?” _Cas_…it sounds right.

He’s met with a content smile, no words needed.

Dean realizes it’s getting darker. He clears his throat. “We should head back.”

Cas’s stare jerks towards the sky. “Dusk is approaching,” he says, with a hint of fear in his voice.

“Don’t you worry,” Dean says, Cas already on his feet “we’ll make it back to the road before its fully da—”

Cas is running, as far as their off-trail route allows it. “Wait,” Dean calls after him, trying to catch up, “don’t hurt yourself. We’ve got plenty of time.”

Cas slows down a bit but he looks terrified. Maybe he’s afraid of the dark, or wild animals.

“It’s okay,” Dean says with a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, pulling him back, “we’ll go fast.”

Dean’s reassuring words do nothing to release the tension from his face. Without another word, however, Dean leads the way and they’re back on the path in no time.

Cas has fallen into jog and as soon as they hit the road back into town, he’s running, like he’s trying to get away from something, someone. “Cas,” Dean shouts, “Cas, what’s going on, what are you afraid of?”

Cas doesn’t answer and soon, he’s getting out of Dean’s sight but Dean can still hear his shoes on the gravel. He catches a last glimpse of the black hoodie before he comes to a halt at the bridge, fighting for air, legs burning from the strain. Cas is gone.

“Impossible,” Dean murmurs to himself. He can’t have—there’s no way. He was right there just a few seconds ago. Unless…

“Cas!” Dean is leaning over the bridge as far he can, trying to see something in the dark water beneath him. “Cas!” He can’t just have jumped in his panic, can he? He’s clearly unstable. What was he running from?

If Cas wants to stay hidden, however, then Dean should let him. He’ll come around. Maybe. He shouldn’t continue to force unwanted help unto him. The last time it almost cost him his life. There’s nothing he can do but go home. He’s dead tired anyway, now that the adrenalin is wearing off. His almost-drowning feels like forever ago. Too much for one day. He could fall asleep right here on his feet like a horse.

He holds onto the railing for a minute before proceeds his walk home. With his last drop of energy, he manages to take off his clothes and get into bed before he falls into a deep, deep slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

A few hard bangs on his door disturb his sleep. Dean feels like he’s been run over by a truck. He’s lying on his stomach, his limbs numb as if he hasn’t moved in hours. He probably hasn’t. Knocked out dead.

“Dean Winchester!” the person outside his house calls. It’s Sheriff Mills. He had completely forgotten about her.

In zombie-like speed, he puts on the clothes he carelessly dropped on the floor last night and shuffles out of the bedroom. “Coming!” he answers loudly to silence the sheriff’s persistent knocking.

“Dean,” she says as he opens the door, the sunlight making him flinch, “finally. Wasn’t sure you’re home, though the car is parked there.” Her eyes scan him, his posture. “Late night?” she asks.

“No. Yesterday was just…a lot,” he says, going back inside. “Coffee?”

“Thanks, I’m good,” Jody says, following him and closing the door behind her. “So, where is he?”

Dean almost drops the coffee pot into the sink. Right. “Uh,” he says, looking over his shoulder, “he, uh, he’s gone again.”

“Where? What happened?” She’s examining the room as she speaks.

“I don’t know. We were getting along great, I think, then suddenly he made a run for it. When I caught up, he had disappeared.”

“Where was this?” she inquires, studying his desk, the same drawings that Cas was so appealed by.

“Over by the bridge out of town. We were out for a walk.” He scoops a few spoons full of coffee powder and starts the machine. “I don’t know what had gotten into him.”

“Did he say anything? You said the two of you were getting along?”

“He told me his name.”

Her eyebrows shoot up in interest. “So he talks.”

“He does. But he doesn’t say much, dodged all of my questions.”

“What’s his name then?”

Dean is leaning against the kitchen counter. “Castiel,” he says and when he sees her look of disbelief, “at least that’s what he said.”

“Did he happen to mention a surname?”

“Nope,” Dean says and shakes his head. “Basically, he didn’t tell me anything besides his name.”

The sheriff nods. Her eyes glance towards the open bedroom door and Dean is expecting her to ask if she can take a look inside, for whatever reason. Instead she says, “Well, if he prefers to stay somewhere out there, then we have to let him. As long as he doesn’t bother anyone. I’ll tell my people to have an eye out for him and I’m going to check if anything comes up with the name but I highly doubt it.”

The coffee machine hisses behind him. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Sheriff?”

“No thanks. I’ll leave you to it. Have a good day,” she says and Dean walks her out.

Two cups of coffee later, he goes to the bathroom to wash up and get rid of the filthy clothes still scattered on the tile floor. The lost-and-found stuff he’ll throw out. His own clothing is still damp and has a nasty smell to it, like seaweed that’s been rotting away in the sun. When he picks up yesterday’s jeans, he notices something he neglected when he first saw it: the rip in the leg. Dean distinctly remembers the sharp pain that shot from his wounded shin up to his hip within a split second. When he came to on the beach later, the pain and any signs of an injury where gone.

There might be a slight chance he remembers it wrong, never even hurt his shin in the first place. But. He’s holding the evidence in his hand right now. There’s no way he ruined his jeans like this while he got away without even as much as a scratch on his skin.

“How?” Dean wonders. He fails to come up with a reasonable explanation.

His jeans should go in the trash as well. Instead he washes them along with his other clothes. He can’t get rid of these before he’s got an answer. It bugs him, really. All these mysteries. He’s afraid he’ll never find out and live in uncertainty forever. Sometimes, making up stories isn’t enough.

Dean spends the rest of the day selecting works to exhibit at Missouri’s shop, cutting passepartouts and putting them into frames. In the back of his mind, he’s still thinking. About the jeans. About Castiel.

Later, he drives into town. Missouri has already moved her displays around, as she said she would, leaving enough wall space for Dean’s art. He considers where to put what for a while, sketches it out, asks Missouri for her opinion. He’s pleased with how it turns out in the end. Maybe there’ll fit in one or two of his wood sculptures as well without overloading the place. He’ll sleep over it before he decides which of those to clean up and transport here.

“You sure you’re alright, love?” Missouri asks once again. Of course the news of Dean’s almost-drowning had already spread.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, “really. It’s something I can use, I guess, for my art.”

“Take care of yourself, you hear me,” she says.

“I will,” he promises, “no more risking my life to find mysterious men.”

“I hope at least he’s worth it,” she says with a smirk, “the stranger in his birthday suit.”

Dean blushes. He won’t admit what she’s hinting at. “He’s nice, I guess,” he says, which isn’t a lie either.

“Sure he is. Maybe bring him over if he decides to show up again. I’ll make an exception on the dress code for him,” she says and laughs.

Dean is already uncomfortable enough and comes to the conclusion that it’s best to go home now. He’s tired again anyway. Maybe the cold he’s been anticipating is coming around. He ignores the fact that his brother has been begging him all day to spend the evening together and have a talk but Dean doesn’t think he can pour out his emotions tonight. Probably never. He hates talking about his feelings. That’s why he stopped talking completely as a kid.

When he turns the key in the lock of his door, a voice close to him makes him jump three feet to the side. For a second he thinks his brother showed up uninvited after all.

“Dean?”

“Cas, what the hell…you startled me.” His heart is pounding so wild, like it’s trying to escape through his throat. Cas looks guilty. “Where have you been, man?”

He’s still wearing Dean’s clothes from yesterday. “I couldn’t let you…” he starts but trails off. “I wasn’t ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Can I trust you?” Cas takes a step closer, almost whispering, afraid to be overheard although they’re definitely alone.

Dean swallows heavily. “Of course you can. Why?”

“Come to the waterfall, at midnight. Come alone. I have to show you something.”

He’s about to walk away again but Dean catches his arm. “Cas,” he says, looking deep into his eyes, searching.

“See you at midnight,” he says and breaks away from Dean’s grip. Dean watches him pass from his sight behind the shrubs bordering his property, releasing a breath. He’s exhausted but probably won’t be able to catch any sleep now. Why at midnight, why not now? Yesterday Cas seemed to be terrified by nightfall and now he wants to meet up in the pitch dark woods. Dean will have to get some gear ready.

So when it’s almost time for their rendezvous, Dean has packed a backpack with some snacks and water and—just in case—a blanket. He quickly checks his flashlight for batteries but recalls putting in new ones not long ago. If all goes wrong, he’ll still have his phone’s flashlight for back-up. He’s not going that far into the woods anyway and as a teenager he did so often much less prepared, though tonight he can’t really know what to expect. Maybe he should be worried about Cas’s secrecy and the condition to come alone but he can’t get behind the idea of Castiel meaning him any harm—he saved his life, so why hurt him now. It wouldn’t make sense.

Mild night air fills his lungs, only a slight breeze caresses his cheeks as he leaves his backyard. He doesn’t want to take the road this time. It’s very unlikely to encounter anyone so late but he’d rather start his nocturnal outing unobserved. There’s an old and wonky footbridge crossing the river. Dean meant to fix it a while ago and now regrets not doing so. Carefully, he puts one foot on it and it seems to support his weight. Graceful like a ballerina he glides over the planks, letting out a breath in relief when his boots come to stand on soil again. He should have learned from pushing his luck too far after he slipped and fell into the ocean. However, all went well this time.

The forest is alive, twigs cracking, leaves rustling everywhere, all kinds of howls and squeaks. Dean knows his way. He’s going fast. A quick glance at his phone tells him it’s almost midnight. He won’t be late, though. For a second he feels like seeing the sun rise in the distance but that’s impossible. There’s something on the horizon, lightning illuminating the night sky, possibly, or the moon but it can’t be this bright yet, in a few days maybe. It’s a strange, blueish gloom, becoming more intense with every step he takes. He can hear the waterfall getting closer.

There is no need for a flashlight anymore. The spray of the waterfall adds another fresh taste to the atmosphere. Serene, the blue light swathes his surroundings like early morning mist. Then, Dean stops, at loss for words to describe what he just laid his eyes on, a breath catching in his throat. It’s beautiful, more than anything he’s ever seen. The pool glows from within, water as blue as at a tropical beach, a beacon in the dark forest, luring him. He moves closer, drawn by his own curiosity, sending sparks down his spine, fingertips tingling with excitement. He takes off his backpack and leans it against a boulder at the edge of the pool, angling to take a look and find out what is causing the blue light. There’s a splash a few feet away but when Dean turns his head, whatever caused it is gone, concentric circles on the surface as evidence he hadn’t misheard.

He has been here many times, even at night, but this he’s never seen before. Did Cas want to show him this? Has he been here before Dean took him? Where is he? It’s five past twelve. “Cas,” Dean says, though he wouldn’t have been able to miss him, not with the night being bright as it is. He takes a look around, scanning the dark shrubbery for any movements. Hopefully he didn’t get lost.

Another splash startles him and Dean’s attention is drawn to the pool again. Something approaches him beneath the surface. It’s big, its head being a dark spot in the bright blue water. Dean doesn’t dare to move. When the head emerges, he realizes its Cas diving around in the pool. “Cas,” he says once again, “where’ve you been hiding?”

“I needed to be sure you don’t have company.” Only his head is peaking out of the water. It must be cold but this doesn’t seem to bother him. He must be naked again.

“You didn’t mention you’d go for a night swim,” Dean says, “I’m not joining you, if that’s what you had in mind.”

“I did not,” Cas says. “Dean, I need you to see something. Promise me to stay calm.”

“Cas,” is all Dean can think of. He nods, mentally preparing himself for whatever is about to happen. It then takes Cas a moment to do anything, probably doing the same. Dean stays a few feet away, swallowing hard.

Castiel’s arms surface first, find a rock to hold onto and he pulls himself up. Something is not right but Dean doesn’t know yet what it is. Then his torso meets the night air, water dripping from his chin onto his chest and he trembles at the sight of it, not having had the opportunity yet to appreciate his build. His knees weaken when he realizes what is to come next, hanging between his between his legs, crowned by curls of dark hair. But that’s not what he sees. What actually is attached to Castiel’s hips is smooth and shiny and—

Dean feels like he’s been hit in the chest. He can’t breathe. Castiel sits, now entirely out of the water, presenting himself to Dean’s wide-eyed gaze. He shudders. Tiny, silvery scales dot his waist, even going as far up his back, and below that, where his legs and…other parts should be, there is a…there is a _fish tail!_

Dean lets out a quivering breath. For a moment he’s certain he’s going to faint. He actually blacks out for a second but when he comes to, he is still standing on his feet. Cas is still there, sitting on a rock with a fish tail where his legs should be, watching. “Don’t be afraid,” he says.

There’s something else Dean hadn’t notices before, on his neck. He takes a cautious step forward. “Cas,” he says once again, because apparently that’s the only word he seems to be capable of saying out loud. _Fish tail._

“It’s alright, Dean. You can come closer.” Cas’s voice is deep, even more intense tonight than the last time Dean heard him speak, anxious and earnest, asking him to come here, alone.

He dares to move towards him until he’s close enough to reach out and touch, making sure he’s not dreaming. “Cas,” _again,_ “what…how…is this real?” Now that he’s only one and a half feet away Dean realizes those things on Cas’s neck are gills. Of course Cas would have gills, he’s a, he’s a…

“Very much so,” Cas says. “I’m glad you came.”

“Can I touch you?” Dean blurts out and immediately prays for a hole in the ground to open up and swallow him whole. “I mean, can I feel it, your, your…”

“My tail?” Cas says,

“Yes.”

“Of course, Dean,” he says, “I trust you.”

Dean bites his bottom lip, slowly reaching out a hand, hovering over the fish tail, considering where it’s appropriate to touch and where it’s not. He sets on a spot below where his knee would usually be, trembling. It’s cool and silky and so unreal. Cas has a fish tail and gills. Cas is a— “What are you?” he exhales, unconsciously moving his hand upwards on the tail.

“Don’t you know the answer already?” Cas says, blue eyes boring into him, paralyzing.

“You’re a merman,” Dean not more than whispers.

“I am,” Cas says and Dean realizes his hand is resting on Cas’s hip, just where fish scales and skin begin to blend into each other. Quickly, he draws it back.

“How come you, you—”

“Had legs every time you saw me?” Cas says. He takes a deep breath and exhales. “Every eighty-four years, on the night of a new moon, my tail will turn into human legs and I’ll be able to roam their world until the next full moon.”

“Full moon is only in a few days,” Dean throws in, remembering this from Missouri reading him his horoscope.

“It is,” Castiel says, “during the day I will have legs to mingle with the humans, come night my true form will show. I almost did not make it at sunset yesterday.”

“That’s why you ran away from me,” Dean realizes, “you were about to change back.”

“Gladly, I could take off my shoes and pants before ripping them apart with my tail. I hid them and myself under the bridge.”

“So you did jump into the river.”

“I didn’t want you or anyone else to find me floundering on the gravel, unable to escape.”

Dean shakes his head. He wouldn’t have wanted to find out that way either. “You’re a merman,” he says, with more confidence this time.

“Does the truth about me upset you?” Castiel asks.

“No,” Dean breathes, “no, it’s just…I need to let it sink in. I haven’t met any merman before, you know,” he says, followed by an awkward laugh. There can’t possibly be proper etiquette for talking to mythical creatures about what they are, Dean guesses. Then, another realization hits him. Castiel is a _mythical creature,_ straight out of a fairy tale. Dean loves these kinds of stories but, to be honest, he’s a grown-up and as much he’s wished for finding out that magic is real and all that for most of his life, mermen don’t exist. And yet they do.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” he says. Then, “why me? Why did you show yourself to me?”

“I told you,” Cas says, “it’s because I trust you. You were kind to me, you came to rescue me when you thought I might be hurt. You fascinate me.”

“_I_ fascinate _you?”_

“I have observed many humans in my lifetime, met some when I had legs but none were like you.”

Dean feels himself blush, and, after a shaky inhale, he says, “About that… You said every eighty-something years you grow legs. How?”

“I don’t know,” Cas says, “but it’s been like this ever since I can remember. Every eighty-four years for about two weeks I’ll have legs throughout the hours between sunrise and sunset.”

“You must be really old,” Dean says and only barely refrains from face-palming.

“I am very old, yes,” Cas says, oblivious to Dean’s embarrassment. “Humans have a much shorter lifespan.”

“Can you talk to fish?” Had anyone ever asked him what he would say should he encounter a merman one day, Dean would have had so many sharp-witted, meaningful questions. And all he can think of is that.

“Well, I share the ocean and other waters with all kinds of creatures and I am considerate of my environment and intent on keeping a natural balance but sound travels differently under water and above all that, fish can’t talk, Dean.”

Dean is about to get up and find the nearest tree to knock the dumb out of his head but then he realizes Cas didn’t imply anything of the kind. He only made it clear that fish are definitely incapable of speech. “I’m sorry for all my silly questions,” he says.

“Don’t be,” Cas reassures him, “I have questions, too.”

“Like what?”

“Humans. What are they really? How do they live? Where does their thirst for destruction come from?”

Right. Overfishing, offshore industry, waste island, nuclear testing. Humans are the worst. “I wish I knew,” Dean sighs.

“Will you spend the day with me?” Cas asks instead, his voice hopeful, as if Dean could possibly deny his wish.

“I’d love to,” he says. He would do anything if the response was always the smile Cas is giving him right now and Dean feels the urge to touch him again. “May I?” His hand is aiming for his neck, the gills, though touching those might hurt him or maybe restrict his breathing—he’s got no clue about merman anatomy.

“You may,” Castiel says, “but be careful. It’s a very tender spot.”

Very, very carefully, Dean lays his fingers on the fan-like growth at the side of Castiel’s neck. It’s weird, wanting to touch it, like asking someone to feel up their lung. But Cas doesn’t seem to mind. He holds perfectly still, eyes fixed on Dean. Cas, suddenly, takes a sharp inhale and Dean fears to have hurt him somehow, only then his eyes begin to glow, shining like the pool and Dean had already completely forgotten about that, too distracted by meeting a real-life merman.

“Cas,” he murmurs, not wanting to make too much of a noise, “is that you, the pool? Is the light coming from you?”

“Does it bother you?” Cas asks, his eyes going back to normal, if you can call it that, unusually azure as always.

“Not at all,” he says, “it’s beautiful, just like you.” Dean reckons it’s okay to tell a merman, or any kind of mer-creature, that they’re beautiful without hinting at any ulterior motives. Cas is beautiful. The silver-scaled tail and the ever-present blue glow and the eyes and the hair and…just the fact that he’s a merman, a fairy tale come to life, the embodiment of magic. _Magic._ It’s real, and Dean has been chosen as a witness. Cas averts his eyes, sheepishly.

“Can I ask you something?” Dean says then.

“Anything you want.”

“When I slipped and fell into the ocean, I injured my leg. Later, on the beach, there wasn’t any sign of it left. Did you do that? Did you heal my leg, can you do that?”

Cas looks down at his lap. “It was a risk, I know, but one I was willing to take. I couldn’t stand the thought of you being in pain.”

“Thank you,” Dean says, taking his hand. There’s the smile again. Dean just found out about Cas being a mythical, magical creature, yet the most enchanting thing about him is that smile and Dean is losing himself once again in those beautiful, ocean-like eyes.

“I wish all humans were like you,” Cas says.

“Are they not?”

“Some will mean me harm. They tried to capture me, put me in a glass cage like they do with animals, certain I would help them gain prestige. They even tried to kill me, hoping to study my dead body and uncover its secrets.”

“Cas, that’s terrible. When did that happen?” Dean takes his other hand as well, squeezing tight.

“A long time ago. I’ve learned from my mistakes. That’s why I keep my distance when I have legs.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

Cas looks away. “That’s very kind of you.”

“I mean it, Cas,” Dean says, searching for his eyes. “I will show you my world and take care of you.”

They continue to talk for a while, exchanging stories about their lives. They’re different, in so many ways, yet both seem like they’ve never had anyone to really talk, someone who would understand them, searching, yearning. Cas tells him the last time he met other merpeople was ages ago. It didn’t bother him that much, being on his own, always curious about what lay beyond the shores, eavesdropping on humans as they crossed the seas on different kinds of vessels until their purpose and size became too dangerous to even go near. He’s heard rumors of his kind being caught in fishing nets, dying in agony. Dean can only listen, shaking his head. He can hardly imagine it, being all by himself, threats everywhere. At least he’s got his brother, friendly people in town, and no-one would think of hunting him and putting him in a zoo or a museum.

He loses track of time. Cas notices he’s been shivering for a while now and Dean can’t blame it on astonishment any longer. He wraps himself in the blanket he brought, Cas by his side close to the water, and not much afterwards, he must have fallen asleep, dreaming of mermaids and fairies and magic.


	4. Chapter 4

Leaves crunch under him when he stirs awake. His side feels damp and the tip of his nose is cold. Dean rolls onto his back. Light falls through the tree crowns—they’re alive, birds chirping and swarming all over, the swish of the waterfall nearby.

“Dean,” Cas says, coming to crouch by his side, “it’s day.”

“It is,” he says. He was fighting to stay awake, not wanting to miss a second of being with a genuine, real-life merman with a fish tail. The merman has grown legs by now.

“You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb. I can’t wait to spend the day with you,” Cas tells him, very much excited. He’s wearing Dean’s hand-me-downs again.

“So do I,” Dean says and, with a grunt, pushes himself off the ground, bones creaking. “I gotta go home and take a hot shower first. My back has gotten too used to memory foam.”

Cas looks at him, squinting, trying to make sense of Dean’s words. His enthusiasm doesn’t seem to have worn off, however, since he then says, “Of course,” and hands Dean his backpack after he’s folded the blanket and brushed the dirt off his jeans.

They take the path along the road on their way back to Dean’s house and, after a shower and some coffee, Dean suggests he take Cas on a trip into town.

“Do you think it’s safe?” he asks, concern on his face.

“I told you, Cas, I won’t let anything or anyone get to you. Besides, the folks around here are nice. And, no-one knows who you really are anyway, so don’t worry.”

Cas claps on his thighs and gets up from the couch. “All right then. Let’s go. I’ve always wanted to take a proper look on a human settlement.”

Dean drives them to Main Street and parks the Impala in front of the public library, a large but unremarkable brick building, from the outside at least. It’s about time he visits his brother again.

It’s cloudy today and not many people are out on the sidewalk but Cas remains wary, yet curious, taking his time to take it all in, stretching his neck to look at the—not very tall—buildings. To Dean, there’s nothing remotely interesting out here. He’s known these streets and houses, even the trees on the side of the road, all his life, has seen shops come and go, becoming more tourist-y over the years. Cas has probably never dared to come this close to a center of human population. “Where are we going?” he asks, Dean patiently waiting on the steps that lead up to the entrance.

“The library,” Dean says, “do you know what that is?”

Cas shakes his head.

“It’s a place you can go to read and borrow books. You know what books are?” Dean feels weird about patronizing Cas this way but he has come to realize that he has actually no understanding of how much Cas already knows about all things human.

“They contain words, text, stories,” he says, “you used to carve them into stone or onto sticks, then you wrote on animal skin.” Dean can’t even grasp how old Cas must be, having observed these things.

“Stories, yes. And knowledge. Sam works here, too, that’s why I wanted to take you here in the first place.”

“You want me to meet your brother?” Cas says and Dean holds the door for him.

“I’m not telling him anything, don’t you worry,” he reassures him.

Right when they come in, there’s a round, slightly elevated booth, clad in dark wood paneling. In it sits Sam, his face highlighted by the shine of a lamp on his desk, the computer to his right a stark contrast. He looks up when he hears the echo of their footsteps on the stone tile floor.

“Dean,” he says and his eyes light up.

“Hey, Sam. I thought I’d stop by today to look at some books.”

Sam has already gotten up from his desk and left the booth, coming around to meet them. “Who is your friend?” he says.

“This is Cas,” Dean introduces and, with a hand on his back, pushes him forward.

“Hello,” Cas says, leaning into Dean’s touch as if he’s seeking comfort in a stressful situation.

“I’ve been worried about you,” Sam says, giving Dean a one-armed hug. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“I was busy,” Dean says. “I was spending time with Cas,” and when Sam’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, “Dude, not like that.” A quick glance to his side tells him that Sam’s implications have gone straight over Cas’s head. Fortunately. “He’s the one who saved me from drowning.”

“The naked guy?” Sam blurts out and Dean gives him a scolding look for that. “Oh my god, man, thank you.” He takes Cas’s right hand in both of his. “I wouldn’t know what to do without my brother. He has a tendency of getting into trouble.”

“Man,” Dean moans, “that’s not true.”

“What about that time you drove me to the clinic on your handlebar after I broke my arm? You almost got us killed.”

“I was helping you!” It had happened on his watch. They were playing superheroes and Sam had an unfortunate landing after jumping off the garage. Dad grounded him for longer than it took Sam’s arm to heal.

“Dean only had good intentions,” Cas says. “He thought I might be hurt and was trying to find me.”

“Sounds like you,” Sam says, apologetic. “Anyway, thank you, Cas.”

“Cas, uh, why don’t you take a look around,” Dean suggests then. “Go on, don’t be scared. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

Hesitantly, Cas walks a few feet ahead, eyes flying up to the ceiling. The frosted glass dome in the middle of the hall seems to have piqued his interest.

Sam turns to him as soon as Cas is out of earshot, hitting his arm to get his attention away from Cas. “Dude, why are you hanging out with the naked man?”

“He’s not naked.”

“You know what I mean. Did he say why he ran away? Did he tell you anything?”

“Well,” Dean says, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s not from here. He’s never been to…the Pacific Northwest before. So I’m showing him around town.”

“How did he end up on the beach then, naked?”

Dean huffs a laugh and waves his hand in dismissal. “Long story, never mind,” he says and proceeds to go to Cas.

“This conversation isn’t over, Dean,” Sam insists.

“We’ll talk another time,” he promises and leaves his brother behind. Cas has started to skim the titles in the Natural History section. Dean doesn’t dare to ask if he can read.

“Hey,” he says, laying a hand on Cas’s lower back, “I’ll show you something.” Dean leads him to the fairy tale books. As a kid, these were his favorites. The copperplate prints in the older ones became a huge influence for his later works. He takes a thick volume bound in red leather off the shelf and puts it on the nearest desk, Cas watching behind his back as he flips through the pages. “See?” he says and steps aside to make room for Cas next to him.

Cas’s eyes widen, then he looks at Dean. On the page there’s a black-and-white drawing of merfolk, underwater, fish and seaweed here and there, the mermaids bra-less, clams only in their long, wavy hair. The merman in the center of the picture is wearing a crown made of coral, a mighty trident in his hand.

“I’ve seen man-made imagery of my kind before,” Castiel says, “on ships, in harbors.”

“They’re nothing compared to you,” Dean whispers. Tail or no tail, Dean doesn’t seem to ever be able to take his eyes off Cas, wondrous being that he is.

Footsteps behind them make Dean shut the book with a clap that echoes through the aisles. He takes a shivering breath and looks over his shoulder. Two men have joined them in the otherwise empty library. Dean doesn’t know them. Quickly, he puts the book back in its place and gestures Cas to follow. The taller one of the two men, the one without a beard, almost crashes into him as he walks with his eyes focused on the book in his hand. “Oh, excuse me,” he says, when he notices Dean meeting him in the narrow aisle. He’s British.

It was probably nothing and leaving so abruptly will raise more suspicion than checking out books in silence but Dean had a strange feeling looking at depictions of mermaids with an actual merman by his side, although those people can’t possibly know who Cas is. Anyway, it’s too risky.

“Brits,” he asks Sam when they reach him, “in the off-season?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says, “they look very elite to me. Maybe they’re researchers from Oxford or Cambridge.”

Dean purses his lips. “Whatever,” he says, “Cas and I, we’re leaving now. I’ll call you.”

Sam protests, his nosiness not satisfied yet, but he isn’t going after them either.

Dean reckons continuing their tour on foot will give Cas a better impression of his town than driving around in the Impala. And Cas probably wants to use his legs as long as he has them.

Twenty yards up Main Street lies the town square. It has an official name, though no-one ever uses it. In the middle there’s a statue of some poet who lived here a hundred years ago and Dean most definitely learned his name in elementary school. His works are forgotten now—all of them to be found in the library’s archives— but he’s still mentioned in the odd travel brochure and people take photos of it. On the north end of the square sits a massive (for local proportions at least) white building, Greek columns proudly framing the entrance. “The mayor’s office and public administration are in there,” Dean points out and Cas doesn’t question any of those words but simply rewards him with one of his precious smiles.

“Over there is the school building,” Dean explains another brick building. “You know what that is?”

“School teaches people things,” Cas says, “although I wasn’t aware that humans dedicate entire buildings to it.” There is an expression of slight confusion on his face.

“Well, they do,” Dean says, “I’ve spent most of my childhood and teenage years in there.”

“What did you learn?” Cas asks.

“Many things…though, I have forgotten most of it, I guess,” Dean admits. “You don’t actually need all that stuff they teach in there.”

“Then why did you go?” Cas tilts his head, trying to make sense of this weird human convention.

“Because I had to, okay? You don’t have a choice as a kid. They send you there every day and expect you to do well and if you don’t then…well.” Dean wasn’t a particularly good student. He wasn’t dumb but school always seemed negligible. There were more important things in life. Dad wasn’t very happy with this kind of attitude. Sam, on the other hand, was the exact opposite, a nerd, a teacher’s pet.

Cas is waiting for Dean to finish his sentence and he realizes he hasn’t actually answered the initial question. He clears his throat. “They teach the basic stuff in school, you know. How to read and write, how to count and calculate. They teach about history and nature, how it works. It gets more advanced with time and when you’ve done your time, you get a diploma. Afterwards, if you still want to go to a special building where they teach you stuff, you can go to college. Sam went to college. I didn’t.” Cas crinkles his nose. “Enough about that,” Dean says and moves on, past the fountain.

“You know what,” he says then, “I’m hungry. How about some pancakes?”

They walk back towards the library, past the car. Cas stops every now and then, inspecting different shop windows. It takes them a while to reach the diner but Dean is in no hurry. He lets Cas set their pace. Everything is new to him and he should take his time and let it all sink in. They earn curious looks from the few people they meet. Dean doesn’t bother introducing them to Cas. He certainly isn’t going to broadcast that this is the naked man who caused a fuss at the beach a few days earlier. They’ll ask questions and Dean has yet to find a good answer to those.

The diner is half empty when they get there, just before the busy lunch hours. Dean shows Cas the menu after finding a suitable table. There are pictures of most dishes in there so Dean doesn’t have to worry about Cas’s uncertain literacy. Cas studies them closely but still looks unsure when he folds the menu back up. “All these mean nothing to me,” he says in a pitiful tone.

“Pancakes it is then,” Dean concludes and orders a plate for each of them.

“What do you usually eat? Fish?” he asks after the waitress has left.

“I don’t eat,” Cas says and somehow Dean has already suspected that. He did, however, devour the sandwich Dean gave him. So, at least, he _can_ eat. That he doesn’t require food doesn’t surprise him. He’s a magical merman after all.

“Well, I hope you do now. The pancakes here are delicious,” Dean says and shortly after he’s served a mouth-watering portion of fluffy round clouds smelling like heaven.

Cas looks at his with suspicion. “Here,” Dean says and hands him the syrup.

After the first bite, however, Cas seems delighted and eats his pancakes with apparent gusto.

“Good, wasn’t it?” Dean says, wiping the plate clean with his last bit of pancake. Cas nods his head enthusiastically. His cheeks are flushed and Dean’s gaze lingers briefly on his lips, absently licking syrup off his finger, sweet like the wonderful view.

“Dean Winchester,” a stern voice says all of a sudden and he drops his fork, rattling on the plate and drawing attention from customers around them.

“Sheriff,” he says, almost swallowing his tongue. She is holding three coffees to go in a cup carrier, the fourth in her other hand.

“I guess you forgot to tell me about your friend’s return,” she says, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah…no,” Dean stumbles, then, after taking a silent breath, “Sorry, Jody. I was going to call you but it must’ve slipped from my mind.” More seriously, eyes darkening, he says, “Why? Did you need to talk to him? Did something pop up?”

“Nothing he couldn’t have told you himself,” she says and puts the coffee down on their table. “You two seem to be getting along pretty well.” Her side glance at Cas makes Dean’s mouth go dry.

“He doesn’t remember anything,” he blurts out, lying. “Amnesia, presumably. I’ve read about a case like his once. It’s not unlikely his memory will recover soon enough.”

“Is that so?” she says, directed at Cas.

He gapes at her, only a strangled sound escaping his throat.

“He still doesn’t talk much,” Dean throws in. “He’s very insecure about his condition. I offered to take him in until he gets better.”

Jody isn’t buying any of this. “Has he seen a doctor?” she asks, propping her hand on her hip.

“No,” Dean says. “I don’t know if he’s got insurance or a credit card and as long as we don’t know his last name, we won’t find out.”

There’s a tense moment where Dean clenches his jaw, hoping this interrogation will stop now.

“Well,” the sheriff says, “take good care of him then. But call me if he remembers something of relevance.”

“Will do,” Dean promises, dishonestly, though she’s probably aware of that. “And you tell me if your database spits out something.”

She gives him a slight nod and takes her coffees. “Have a good day,” she says, politely, and slowly walks away.

Dean has no idea why she let his obviously fake story slide but he thinks she might trust him enough to not further question Castiel’s presence. For now.

Cas leans over the table and whispers, “Am I in trouble? Should I leave?”

“No,” Dean says, holding up a hand. “No, Cas. Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.” He sincerely hopes it is. It would be rather unfortunate if Jody decided to lock Cas up and then the transformation from legs to fish tail happened. He knew that parading Cas around town was a risk but one he hopes is worth it for the experience. Cas deserves to see how humans live, especially after only having watched from the sidelines for hundreds of years, thousands probably. Maybe he witnessed humanity from caveman to what it is now—destructive and dangerous to everything that is not human.

“It’s better if we avoid people,” Dean says and realizes this is exactly what Cas has been doing all along. “Certain people, at least. But there is one person I’d like you to meet. It’s safe, I promise.”

Dean pays for their meals and then they take another walk further down the hill, a mild sea breeze filling the air, caws of seagulls in the distance. On the corner lies Missouri’s shop, all kinds of amulets and crystals shimmering in the windows. A bell chimes as Dean opens the door.

“Dean, what a nice surprise,” Missouri says, slowly getting up from her chair behind the counter. “Did you bring your statues?” Dean completely forgot about those.

“Hi, Missouri,” he says, “I wanted to introduce you to my new friend.” Cas, a few steps behind, seems mesmerized by all the fripperies and shiny objects on various displays or dangling from the ceiling.

“Cas,” Dean says and he follows the voice, “this is my dear friend Missouri. She was so kind to let me use her shop as showroom for my art. Missouri, this is Cas.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Cas,” she says, taking his hand. “Why don’t you sit… I’ll make us some tea.” She shuffles around, wheezing slightly as she always does, headed for the back room but Dean stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

“How about you sit with Cas and I make the tea.” It’s not an option. And Dean is certain it’s safe to leave her alone with Cas for a minute.

When he gets back with a small tray, a teapot and three cups, Missouri is asking Cas about his birthdate. “I don’t know,” Cas says, sheepishly.

“There’s the thing,” Dean says and sets the cups on the table, on after another, “Cas has had this accident. He doesn’t remember much.” He fills Missouri’s cup first, then Cas’s. “I’m taking care of him for a while, until he gets better.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you,” she says. “He’s always been such a nice, helpful boy. Your mother raised you well.” She never says that about his father.

“Well, it’s the least I can do,” Dean says and now sits as well. “He saved my life.”

Missouri’s eyes widen with clarity. “You mean… Is he…?”

“Yes,” Dean says and Missouri’s gaze switches back to Cas, inspecting. Dean knows very well that she’s imaging him without clothes on and he doesn’t like it. “Missouri!” he scolds. She gives him a _‘what?’_ look and sips her tea.

“Dean is the kindest person I know,” Cas throws in. It’s easy to say, considering Dean is the _only_ person he knows.

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah, well, enough of that,” he says. “Missouri, how’s my exhibition going so far?” He thought about throwing an actual opening party but he’d better postpone this until the start of the tourist season, so he might acquire clients for commissions.

“I’ve had some great feedback from customers but, as you know, it’s quiet at the moment. Nowadays I sell most of my products over the internet.”

“You have a webshop?” Dean exclaims.

“Of course I have,” Missouri says, shaking her head. “Did you really think a business like this can survive on a few regulars and summer tourists only? My granddaughter set it up for me two years ago,” to Cas, “she’s studying computers, you know.”

That’s fair. Dean’s business mostly exists on the internet as well. Anyway, they should change the subject. Cas has been following their conversation with a frown on his face, probably clueless about what the internet even is. “That’s great, but, uh, why don’t you tell Cas a bit about what your shop is all about.”

“Well,” she says, “I sell things that are supposed to help people in different kinds of ways. To guide them and help with important decisions, or to comfort them in difficult situations. Many of my products also help people to get a better understanding of themselves. That’s why I was asking about your birthday. But don’t worry about that. I have other ways to read you.” She puts down her cup. “Give me your hand.”

Cas hesitates but a slight nod from Dean encourages him to go with it. Gently, Missouri examines both sides of his hand, running a finger along the lines on his palm. His hand looks so big in hers.

“I don’t see much love in your life,” she says, “that’s nothing you’ve ever really had any interest in, but,” she folds his fingers and straightens them again, “I can see why. You’re cautious. You don’t trust people easily. You’re eager to learn, though, adventurous. You might have experienced some setbacks but, luckily, you don’t have a very distinct fate line which means you shape your own future, take your own path in life.”

“That’s accurate, I think,” Cas says.

It is, though Dean has never much believed in palm reading and all those things. It’s more about reading people. Cas is cautious, yes he is—it’s pretty obvious. And who wouldn’t want to hear that they’re choosing their own way, regardless of what others might say or think. Everyone wants to be free from predestination.

His mother used to tell him that Missouri had some kind of third eye, the gift of clairvoyance, but Dean never gave those stories much credit. But now magic _is_ real, apparently, and who knows if there isn’t more to it.

“Would you mind me taking a closer look?” she asks Cas.

“We are already sitting quite close,” he says and Missouri lets out an amused laugh.

“I meant if you’d mind me reading you but more from the inside this time. I feel like there is something about you…something very special.”

Cas casts Dean a questioning look. “Good ahead, if you like,” he tells him. It’s not like Missouri would guess that he’s a merman. No-one could guess that because according to common knowledge, mermen don’t exist.

“This will help me find the right path?” Cas asks.

“If you haven’t found it yet, there might be a good chance,” Missouri says.

“Then do it,” he tells her, and Missouri puts her hands on his temples and closes her eyes.

The scene is almost comedic to Dean and he holds back a snort laugh. Magic is real, so this might be, too.

For a minute or so, nothing happens and Missouri’s head moves slightly, like she’s searching for something inside Cas’s head. Suddenly, she’s still for a second, and then, with a gasp, her eyes open wide, only the white of her eyes visible, Cas looking at her in terror. “Missouri!” Dean yells, throwing himself between them, tea spilling as he hits the table. She lets go of Cas and closes her eyes. They’re back to normal when she opens them once again.

“What just happened?” Dean says, cold sweat on his palms. “You scared me. You scared Cas!”

“I didn’t mean to,” she says, hastily drinking what hasn’t been spilled of her tea. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect…”

“Expect what? Missouri, what’s going on?”

“What a mess,” she says, evading the question and gets up from her chair.

“Missouri,” Dean calls after her, an arm still slung over Cas’s shoulders.

“It’s nothing,” she says when she returns with a kitchen towel and starts to wipe the table.

“Missouri,” Dean demands once more, gripping her arm probably too tightly.

“Fine,” she says and drops the towel. “I don’t exactly know what I saw. I’m trying to make sense of it.”

“Meaning?”

“I have come across many things in my lifetime,” she says, sitting down again. “Most of those a long time ago, before I moved here to settle down. But I’ve never seen something like—”

“Me,” Cas says and a cold shudder runs down Dean’s spine. He shouldn’t have brought Cas here or encouraged him to Missouri’s reading.

“Yes. I don’t know who or what you are and you don’t have to tell me. You mean well, that’s obvious, you’re no threat whatsoever. You’re at a crossroads. Great uncertainty lies ahead of you. Many obstacles have to be overcome to get where you want to be.”

“And where is that?” Cas asks.

“That’s up to you,” Missouri says.

“Great answer,” Dean huffs whereupon Missouri shoots him a berating look. “Sorry,” he mumbles, though he doesn’t feel it. “We should go now. Thanks for the tea, Missouri. Come on, Cas.”

As soon as he steps over the threshold, he feels awful. He should apologize to Missouri. But not now. Another time. He didn’t even do anything and still he feels like he did her wrong. She scared him, though. And she scared Cas.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he says. “She’s never done that before, I swear. I didn’t even know she could. It was a bad idea to bring you here.”

“I think it was very enlightening,” Cas says.

Dean stops. “You do?”

“Somehow she answered questions I didn’t even know I had.” Cas doesn’t look at him as he talks, lifting his gaze towards the sky, the universe. He doesn’t seem to be as freaked out as Dean thought he was.

“To me it sounded like she didn’t answer anything, only put more questions into the room.”

“Maybe questions are good, Dean.” He turns towards him. “I’ve always wondered about humanity and what lay beyond the shores more than about myself, how I’ve come to be and why… Why I become this sometimes,” he says and gestures at his lower half.

“Have you never wondered, though, why you grow legs?”

“Maybe the first few times it happened, but I’ve come to terms with it. There’s nothing I can do anyway. Most of my time I will spend as a creature of the sea and for a few blinks of the eye I will wander the soils of the earth. Perhaps I should ask _why_ again.”

“If you say so,” Dean says and proceeds to walk across the street. He doesn’t even know where he’s going. This whole event seems to have disrupted his mind. “We should go home. I think you’ve met enough people for today.” He can’t shake the feeling that Missouri has come behind Castiel’s secret. She said it herself—she doesn’t know _what_ he is, so she knows he’s something else, something not human.

Cas walks by his side in silence. He’s looking at the houses and shop windows they pass again. They’re headed up Main Street, back to the car. A man steps out of one of the shops, the door falling shut behind him. He has a small packet under his arm. He looks familiar.

“Oh, hi there,” he says. _Brit_.

“Hey,” Dean says, trying not to sound too polite. He’s one of the guys they saw in the library earlier, the bearded one. His beige coat looks expensive. Then, Dean realizes where they are. They’re in front of Cain’s gallery and he obviously bought something in there, much to Dean’s dismay.

“Didn’t I see you in the library today?” the man says.

“Not sure,” Dean says and from the corner of his eye he can see Cas frowning at him.

“Yeah, sure that was you. I was there with my partner.” _Partner, huh, whatever that means._ “You live here?”

“Obviously,” Dean says, “not many tourists around this time of year.”

“And you?” he says, directed at Cas.

“He’s visiting from out of town,” Dean answers.

“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” he says, still talking to Cas. Dean doesn’t like how he’s looking at him. He should rather focus on his ‘partner.’

“We have somewhere to be, excuse us,” Dean says and signals Cas to move on with a hand on his lower back.

“It was nice meeting you,” the man calls after them, unable of taking a hint.

After a while, Cas says, “You’re upset.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are. Because of what happened at Missouri’s and now because of that man.”

“Something about this guy seems off, I don’t know how to explain it.” If he’s being honest with himself, it’s because he found Cain’s work worth spending money on. He also didn’t like the way he was checking Cas out. He isn’t possessive of him or anything, no, it was just… “It’s just a feeling I have about this guy, okay?”

“Okay,” Cas says.

“I’m sorry for being a downer,” Dean says and lays his arm over Cas’s shoulders. “Let’s go home.”

“You said earlier that you don’t know where you came from,” Dean says.

Cas is sitting on the carpet by the bookshelf, flipping through the pages of random titles. Lowest are the large, heavy, illustrated volumes which Cas has taken an interest in.

“That is correct,” he says without looking up from the book in his lap.

“Wanna elaborate?”

Cas sighs and lifts his gaze. “How?”

“I’m not asking if you remember your birth or anything. I certainly don’t remember my own. But, like, do you have parents…did you?”

“Not that I could recall. A brother once told me that we merfolk came to be during a great storm, born from the foam of the tempestuous sea, lightning forming our souls. Our kind would illuminate the vast depths of the oceans and bring life and light to every corner of the aquatic.”

“Is that true?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know,” Cas says and closes the book. “I didn’t ask him how he’d acquired such knowledge and I couldn’t prove him wrong anyway. I’ve had a very long life and the beginnings are uncertain. I don’t remember if I ever had a less mature form, like you humans are children at first, or if I came into existence fully grown already.”

Dean nods quietly.

“What about you?” Cas says and exchanges the book for another. “What about your parents? Are they of great import to your existence?”

Dean laughs. “Well, yeah. Without them I wouldn’t exist in the first place.”

“Because they copulated,” Cas says, innocent blue eyes directed at him.

“Uh,” Dean says, scratching his head, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, “yeah, I guess.”

“And then, after you were born?” he asks, oblivious to how uncomfortable his previous question made Dean.

“I loved my mom, a lot. She was the best mom ever. And then she died.”

“And you’re sad about that?”

“Well, yeah. It sucks. Have you never lost anyone?”

Cas shrugs. “Not like this, I suppose. My brothers and sisters just disappeared over time. And we weren’t particularly close in the first place.” He puts the book back on the shelf and moves from the floor to the free spot on the sofa. “What about your father? You mentioned him before.”

“Eh, pass,” Dean says.

“Pass what?”

“I’d rather not talk about him.”

“Why not? Is he dead, too.”

“He is, yes. But that’s not why—my father wasn’t the best parent, okay? He had a lot of issues, especially after Mom died. And his issues sort of became our issues, understand? People…humans don’t always get along with their parents. As much as we rely on them compared to other species, our relationship with them isn’t always a good one.”

“I think I understand,” Cas says, lowering his gaze.

“Good.” Then, after a pause Dean says, “How about I make us something to eat? I’m hungry.”

He lets Cas examine the television while he’s in the kitchen. The TV basically raised him so he supposes Cas can learn a thing or two as well. At least he’ll see more of the world than Dean would be able to show him in the short timespan he’s got left. Soon, Cas will be gone but that’s a thought for another day. He just revealed his true self to him. Now is not the time to think of goodbyes already.

They eat and Cas asks a lot of questions about what he saw on TV and Dean reckons this might not be the best way to introduce a merman to humanity after all. But it’s easier and faster than reading books. Dean still doesn’t know if Cas even knows how to read and he won’t ask. It doesn’t matter. Cas can hardly take a book with him into the ocean, much less any kind of electronic device.

“It’s getting late,” Cas says eventually.

Dean casts a look outside the window. He’s right. The sun is descending slowly but gradually and Cas doesn’t want to risk having to jump into the river at the last remaining moment of sunlight again.

“Right,” Dean says and gets up, “we should go.”

Cas’s hand touches his shoulder, firm and warm. “No, Dean. You stay here. I’ll see you tomorrow?” He says it as a question. As if there was any doubt Dean wouldn’t want to spend any second he’s got with him.

“Of course,” he says. “Do you want me to pick you up somewhere?”

“I’ll get back to the house if that’s all right. You don’t have to wake up early just because of me.”

Dean lets out a bitter laugh. _Just because of him._ If he could, Dean would stay awake forever.

“Okay,” Dean says and pulls Cas into a tight embrace. “Take care.”

“See you tomorrow,” Cas says.

Dean stands in the doorway as he watches Cas walk away. The last twenty-four hours have been the best of his life.


	5. Chapter 5

After Cas had left, Dean spent the evening sketching and carving a new wooden figure on the small bench in front of his house until he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore from the cold. He went to bed late. When he wakes, thin but bright beams of sunlight fall through the shades in his bedroom. He must have overslept. If he even remembered to set his alarm last night. Although he’d been tired, it took him a long time to fall asleep. So many pictures in his head needed to be processed. The picture of the glowing pool in the middle of the nightly woods, the fish tail that was attached to a man’s torso, the eyes that shine ever so brightly even if there’s no magic involved, Cas’s cheekbones, his lips, his hands, his smile…

_Cas!_ Dean shoots up from his mattress. A quick look on his phone tells him that it’s almost eleven o’clock. Cas must think he forgot about him, or worse, that he doesn’t want to see him again. “Shit,” Dean utters and hopples, with one leg in his jeans, around the room to find a shirt to put on.

He forgoes brushing his teeth—shower he did last night—and tumbles into the living room in search of his car keys, thinking about where Cas might have gone when he found Dean hadn’t already been waiting for him as he was supposed to. The beach, maybe. Or the waterfall? The car won’t help then.

He storms out the door, his jacket getting caught on the door handle and a cold shiver bolts through his body when a voice startles him. “Hello, Dean,” Cas says. He’s sitting on the bench, in the sun, apparently examining last night’s work.

“Cas,” Dean says, untangling his jacket. “How long have you been here?”

“A while,” he says.

“Why didn’t you come in? The door was unlocked. You should have woken me up.”

“You need your rest, Dean. I can wait,” he says and straightens his neck, face towards the sun, eyes closing.

“Cas,” Dean says and sits beside him. “I want to spend as much time with you as I can.”

“You’re here now,” he says without opening his eyes. “I was admiring your work meanwhile. You are very talented.”

“Thank you,” Dean says and puts a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “What do you wanna do today?”

“We could explore the forest together.” He’s looking at Dean now. “I think I need a small break from…other people. They can be very overwhelming.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, resting his arms on his thighs, “especially if you’re not used to social interaction. How often do you talk to…anyone during you eighty-four years of solely having a tail?”

Cas squints as he looks into the sun. “Sometimes I used to mingle with other merfolk but I don’t even remember how long ago that was. We didn’t talk much, however. Talking would have required coming to the surface and most of them refrained from doing so. You never knew what lay beyond the waters, the great unknown.”

“Says someone who lives in a thousands of miles deep ocean.”

“We didn’t like to be seen by anyone. Humans scare so easily and, as you know, they’re a threat to anything they don’t understand.”

“And what about them? Have you ever met a friendly human before? Have you talked to them?”

“When I had legs, yes, but never in my true form. Except for the times they hunted me. But only if necessary. I didn’t think they were worth talking to.”

“Is that why you didn’t say anything the first times we met?”

“I’d rather not say anything to my disadvantage, something that could betray my current appearance. It was safer to be still.”

“Anything you say can and will be held against you,” Dean chuckles sarcastically.

“Exactly,” Cas says, probably not familiar with the phrase.

“Aren’t you lonely, all by yourself, no-one to talk to?”

“I hardly know anything else. Can you miss something you never really had?”

Dean wants to say that, yes, of course you can. He missed Cas after he was gone last night and they barely even know each other. “Maybe I did,” Cas says then, “maybe that’s why I was always trying to get close to humans. Even when I only had my tail, I still watched them, from afar, eavesdropping on their conversations, trying to make sense of what they were saying. Sometimes they would argue and I didn’t understand, couldn’t get behind the reason for why they were yelling at each other. Or, one time, I saw a boy, he was alone at night and I seldom saw children on their own at night. He was screaming, I don’t know why. He seemed angry. I think it might have even been here, that’s why I came back, I suppose, because I wanted to find out why the little boy was screaming.”

Part of this story seems familiar. All of a sudden, Dean has a big lump in his throat. He rubs a hand over his face. Dean knew Cas was old but this is the first time that he realizes Cas was already around when he was little, roaming the seas while Dean was sitting in his mother’s lap or coloring with crayons on the floor in his room, Sam still a baby, chubby and rosy-cheeked.

“I was the boy,” he says.

Cas turns to look at him. He nods, acknowledging. After a minute, he says, “Why did you scream?”

“I was angry, very angry. My mom had been taken from me and no-one seemed to understand my grief, my pain. Dad stopped talking about her and Sam, he was still so young. I couldn’t properly talk to him either. My grades in school became very bad and everyone seemed to blame me. It wasn’t my fault. Nobody would listen so I stopped talking at all, harboring all that anger, all those feelings inside me.” As much as he wanted to talk about it when he was a kid, he hates doing so now. He takes a shivering breath and says, “I think I saw you, then. I always thought it must’ve been some kind of jellyfish but knowing what I do now, I think I saw you, your eyes, they were glowing.”

“I had come too close,” Cas says.

Dean sniffles, forcing back tears. Enough about that. Clapping his hands on his thighs, he says, “Time for breakfast. Or brunch. We eat, then we go on a hike and talk about more cheerful stuff. Being human isn’t solely about being miserable all the time. We’re going to enjoy ourselves.”

Later, Dean packs his backpack—a bottle of water, sandwiches, rain poncho and a flashlight just in case, though they won’t be out very long. Cas has a curfew after all.

They take the route along the road—Dean still hasn’t fixed that bridge—but as soon as they’re in the forest, they take another path, not the one leading to the waterfall. He’s been hiking out here often, he knows the area very well and the most beautiful places to go. Today, he’s taking Cas up a hill from which they’ll be able to see the ocean. In the summer, tourists frequent this route as well but now they’re alone here, unbothered by anyone and free to talk about anything that’s not meant for undedicated ears.

They’ve reached a difficult section on their route and the ground is moist and slippery. Carefully watching his step, Dean leads Cas uphill. The sun is still shining beyond the tree crowns but down here it’s cool and pleasant, the smell of fresh earth and moss in the atmosphere.

“Everything okay there?” he asks Cas, looking over his shoulder.

“I think I’ve never been this far from the sea or any kind of waterbody,” Cas says and Dean offers him a hand to step over a fallen tree trunk.

“Are you anxious about that?”

“I would be. But it’s still early. I feel adventurous, excited. And I know I’m safe as long as I am with you.” He lifts the other leg over the trunk and comes to stand next to Dean, still holding onto his hand. Dean’s breath catches in his throat. He coughs briefly to conceal his awkwardness and lets go, moving on.

They make their way along the path, flattening now slightly, almost there. A few years ago they built a look-out platform on the hill, assumingly to make the route more attractive for hikers, but Dean thinks it’s nice, too. They leave the dense forest and find themselves on a clearing, right atop the hill, this massive wood construction in its center.

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights,” Dean chuckles and leaps towards the staircase, turning around in his jog to make sure Cas is still following him.

He’s smiling again, running after him, and together they ascend the look-out tower. It’s pretty high and a strong breeze is blowing at the top, the construction seeming to sway slightly, and Dean tightly grips the railing.

“Are you cold?” Dean asks. Cas is only wearing his sweater. He never complained about temperature and Dean failed to ask if he needed another layer.

“No,” he says, “are you?”

“Actually, I’m sweating under this,” Dean says. He shouldn’t have sprinted up here. He’s a little bit out of breath, and the astounding view—both the woodlands spreading beneath them, the sea in the distance, and Cas’s beautiful face—do nothing to calm his heartbeat.

He turns towards the railing to look, Cas doing the same, and Dean can’t help but splay his hand across Cas’s back, taking in his warmth. Now Cas is smiling at him again. He looks so happy and Dean feels a sudden sadness rush through him. Soon they will have to part and Dean isn’t so sure if he will be able to handle it. He’s developed a great fondness for Castiel the merman, has found a friend in him, a good friend.

“I wish we could do this every day,” he says.

“Me too,” Cas says, “there’s still so much to see. I don’t think I could do it without you.” Right. Of course. When the next cycle of Cas’s transformations into human form begins, Dean will have been dead for quite some time. He doesn’t expect to get over a hundred years old.

“What else would you like to learn as long as we are together?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Cas says and stares out into the distance. Then, turned towards Dean, “What do you do to not get lonely? I think I’m going to miss company now that I’ve experienced it to this extent.” He’s going to miss company, any company, not Dean’s in particular.

“I can only tell you what I do.”

“What do you do, Dean, to not get lonely?” There’s a smirk on his face when he says this and Dean finds himself unable to breathe for a moment.

“I go to see my brother or I invite him over and we have a good time together. In the summertime, there are much more people around here. I might go and meet them, get to know new people.”

“Are you sad when they leave again?”

“Not really, no. I’ll try to stay in touch with some of them but there was never someone who…who I’d miss that much. We might have had a good time but it was never anything serious, you know. Not enough for me to leave town and not enough for them to turn their lives upside down and come to stay with me, permanently.”

“I’m not sure I’m still following,” Cas says, brows furrowed.

Dean sighs. “I’m talking about relationships, you know. Have you ever had some kind of companion who you were closer to than the others?”

“You mean a friend?”

“No… Well, maybe they could have been a friend, but also, more, you know?”

Cas stares at him, expressionless face turned towards him.

“Love,” he blurts out, “have you ever been in love?”

“I don’t think so,” Cas says, eyes focused on the empty space between them, considering the question. “Humans talk about love all the time but I’ve never really grasped the meaning of it.”

“Seriously?” Dean raises his eyebrows in bewilderment.

Cas shakes his head, sheepishly sucking his lower lip between his teeth.

Dean exhales sharply his nose. “Well, first you gotta know, I guess, there are different kinds of love. Like, motherly love, brotherly love, the love you feel for a friend. You can love a pet, for what it’s worth, but like, not in a weird way. Anyhow, what I’m talking about is romantic love. People, humans, you know, most of them at least, they tend to fall in love with each other and when you’re in love you want to be with that other person all the time, and you think of them constantly and just the thought of them puts a smile on your face and—”

The expression in Cas’s face, almost shocked, startles him and Dean feels like he might have given away too much about himself, been caught.

“I see,” Cas says and aims his look towards the narrow sliver of ocean again, beyond the treetops.

“I take it you haven’t then,” Dean assumes, “been in love.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Dean’s heart makes a backflip in his chest but he doesn’t dare to move and continues to stare out into forest as well. “I think I’ve been in love with the idea of humanity for quite some time, my curiosity never satisfied. I always felt like there was more to it but to understand I had to get closer and I’ve been too afraid to do so, up until recently.” His heart sinks into his stomach. This is not what he expected to hear. So vain of him to think the merman would fall for the first human he meets. And what kind of hypocrite is he even. He’s in love with an idea as well, with the idea of mermen being real and magic and fairy tales.

They’re quiet for a while. Eventually, Dean asks, “Do you want to stay a bit longer?”

Cas shakes his head, pushing himself away from the railing. “No, we can go now.”

Back at the bottom Dean unpacks their sandwiches and after finishing their snacks, they start their walk downhill, back into town. They’re almost back on the road when Cas talks again. “Last night, after I had left, I spent my time thinking, about what Missouri said to me. I tried to remember the first time I grew legs or if any of my kin had ever told me about experiencing it.”

“And did you?”

“I remember the panic,” Cas says, “I didn’t understand what was happening with me. I had to leave the water and no-one ever left the water. My condition forced me out of safety and I was so, so scared and there was nobody who could explain to me why it happened. I don’t recall if I ever asked one of my brothers and sisters about it. I was ashamed. I thought I was the only one but then I heard stories—human stories—about merfolk taking human shape, mostly as a disguise to lead an innocent man into misery. They thought we were a threat and maybe it was true. Maybe one of us did something of this kind—but why would they? What kind of motivation would they have? I decided to not give these insinuations a second thought. When humankind first came to hunt me, I grasped how someone could mean you harm. Perhaps one of us came to the conclusion that it was better to be the hunter than the hunted. I have no proof, though, if any of this is true. As I’ve said, I haven’t spoken to any of my kind in a very long time.”

“Were you ever afraid that it would stick? That you’d be human forever?”

“The first time, I guess… I couldn’t have known when or if I’d change back. My memory is very faint, though, in this regard.” Then, after a pause, he says, “I have made my peace with it. I’m even looking forward to the next cycle now. I get very excited, plan out all the things I want to do, convince myself that I will be more daring this time.”

“Are you pleased with how it’s going so far?”

“Very,” Cas says with an ear-to-ear smile, “making a human friend was more than I could have wished for.”

Dean returns the smile. It’s pained though and he tries not to let his true feelings bleed through. Cas is happy and Dean is one of the reasons. He is selfish, though. He wishes Cas could stay by his side forever. He doesn’t want to have to let got. He’ll be devastated.

Not much later, they’re back home and Dean proposes to make them an early dinner. Cas is going through his books again, looking at pictures of ghost towns and abandoned buildings. When he’s in the middle of cutting onions, he drops the knife and turns around to Cas. “I’m going with you today,” he says, arms crossed over his chest to emphasize his determination.

Cas looks up from his book now.

“I’m going with you,” Dean repeats, “I’m going to treasure every last second I’ve got with you and I won’t let you run away as long as the sun is still high up in the sky. We are going to say good night properly this time. I’m going to be there with you through the whole process.”

Cas shrugs slightly. “If that’s what you want,” he says.

“Damn right it is,” Dean says, ready to argue but then he notices the twinkle in Cas’s eyes.

“I was hoping you’d want to come with me,” he says. “It was very hard for me to leave yesterday. I still had time but you weren’t there.”

Dean takes a trembling breath. “Cool,” he says, “glad we got that settled.” He spins around to continue his cooking and to not have Cas catch him grinning like an idiot.

When it’s time, Dean drives them down to the beach. They agreed to do this here. The far end, so he thought, would be hidden enough from curious eyes, behind a few tall rocks. Hardly anyone ever goes here and certainly not this time of day. They are on their own, just the two of them.

Cas sits on the pebbled ground and Dean follows suit. The cloudless sky is tinted in a soft orange, streaks of pink and lavender here and there. They’re wrapped in gentle light, contend. Almost. Dean wishes this moment could last forever. There’s still so much to say but he doesn’t want to disturb the peace. Cas’s gaze is focused on the horizon, watching the sun go down, hovering over the waterline and when it begins to disappear behind the horizon, he rises to his feet, taking off the sweater first, then the T-shirt. Dean does his best not to watch him. He’s no voyeur. But he can’t help it. He’s greedy for every second he has Cas around, where he can look at him, imprinting his image in his mind so he won’t ever forget what this beautiful creature looked like. Cas slips out of his shoes, the jeans come off next and, apparently, he’s been going commando all along. Of course he has. It’s not like anyone would have provided him with underwear. When Dean first gave him things to dress in, he didn’t think the stranger would appreciate worn boxers and neither did Dean feel like lending him a pair of his.

Bare as he is now, Cas makes his way down towards the shoreline. The sun is almost gone. Dean watches him intently, studying his every step, the muscles on his back moving slightly as he swings his arms at his sides. When he’s about waist-deep in, he makes a head dive, disappearing completely beneath the water, as does the sun. Stars are blinking in the sky, their reflections dotting the dark ocean. For a moment that feels like forever, Dean is certain Cas has already left. He had hoped he’d stick around for a while. Then, however, a head breaks the surface, black hair stark against light skin, shining in the moonlight. Before he even realizes it, Dean is standing and hurriedly discarding his clothes. Cas remains unmoving as Dean is swimming towards him.

“We haven’t said good night yet,” Dean says, short-winded, making circular movements with his arms. The water is freezing but it doesn’t matter.

“I was waiting for you to follow,” Cas says and Dean finds himself drifting closer until he’s only a few inches from Cas’s face. “You can hold onto me. I won’t let you go under,” he says and Dean stops his swimming motion to reach deeper into the water, laying his hands on Cas’s waist. Briefly, very briefly, he lets a hand wander, only to make sure he hasn’t been imaging things back then in the woods, despite the evidence of gills at the sides of Cas’s neck right in front of him. The tail is as smooth as he remembers, though it feels different under water, sleeker but warm, compared to the surrounding temperature and notices the sudden absence of cold.

“You were shaking,” Cas says in response to his frown.

“Thank you,” Dean says.

They are floating in the calm sea, rising and falling with the tide, Dean holding onto Cas and Cas holding him close. His heart is racing so hard, Cas must be able to feel it sending vibrations throughout his body. He’s pulling himself further into Cas’s embrace, their noses almost touching now. “Cas,” he murmurs, one hand coming out from under water to touch the hair at the back of his head, fingertips running through wet strands. He tilts his head just a bit, and, eyes closed, it doesn’t take much of a forward motion for his lips to meet Cas’s. Cas grip around his back tightens and Dean takes this as a good sign, increasing the pressure against Cas’s lips with his own. Cas kisses back and when Dean opens his mouth slightly, he can taste the salt on their skin, his tongue testing, seeking permission. Cas, slack-jawed, opens up to him, their tongues meeting, slick and soft and warm, the silent ocean around making it the most private moment possible, drowning out everything that is not the sound of heavy breathing between their enrapturing kisses.

With a sigh, Cas eventually pulls back. “You should go and rest,” he says, his voice barely distinguishable from the steady whisper of the ocean.

“I don’t want to,” Dean says but lets go of him anyway. “Goodnight, Cas.”

The merman watches him until he’s safely back on the shore. They exchange one last, longing look, and then Cas dives under, the fin at the end of his tail briefly breaching the water, an obvious gesture for Dean to send him off into a good dream.

He quickly towels off with his flannel shirt and gets dressed. Cas’s clothes he hides under a rock for him to find in the morning. He’s shivering now that he’s had to leave the magical warmth of Cas’s arms and his overshirt is too damp to put on. He’s almost back to where his car is parked when someone approaches him in the dark.

“Oh, good evening,” the man says, “what a delightful coincidence.” It’s the British guy from the library, the other one, without the beard.

“Are you lost?” Dean says. Coincidence is not what he would call their encounter.

“No, just taking a refreshing night walk along the beach. Crisp air filled with the marvelous scent of the ocean—it’s the most wonderful thing, isn’t it?”  
“Where did you leave your partner?” Dean asks.

“Oh, he is more of a city person, you know. He only came here because I asked him to. But I, on the other hand, am thrilled to be here. There’s so much exploring to be done, out in the nature. You’ll never know what you might stumble across.” There’s a twinkle in his eye, whitened teeth flashing in the poor light. “And what are you doing out here, all by yourself? Taking a swim?”

“It’s supposed to be good for your health, strengthens the immune system.”

“Ah, of course,” the man says. “Well, I prefer the sauna, the other extreme.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean mutters, “if you’ll excuse me, I was about to head home.”

“Yes, obviously. Have a good night.”

Dean gives him a slight nod in response. He can’t shake the feeling that the guy’s eyes are glued to his back as he’s leaving. When he’s at the car, though, he can’t see him anywhere. Maybe he’s really just talking a walk but Dean highly doubts it. Something is wrong with this guy. Both of them.

The house is quiet when he gets home. He misses Cas already. He doesn’t feel like staying up much longer. Certainly not if getting up early means he’ll have more time to spend with Cas, so he goes to bed soon after a hot shower, imaging Cas’s strong arms around him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter ahead!
> 
> Warning for canon-typical violence.

No alarm is needed this morning for Dean to get out of bed as soon as the sun has risen on the blue sky. He quickly freshens up in the bathroom and when he starts the coffee machine, there is a knock on the door.

“I told you to just come i—” The rest of his words are muffled into Cas’s sweater. He jumped at him as soon as Dean opened the door, face bright as the new day.

“I didn’t know what to do with myself all night,” he says, “I couldn’t wait to see you again.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Cas,” Dean says, gazing into his breathtakingly beautiful eyes. A second passes, before Dean gives the door behind Cas a slight push to close it and then presses his body into Cas’s until his back hits the door and finally kisses him again.

“I missed you,” he sighs against Cas’s lips, struggling for air.

“I missed you, too, Dean.” There’s a huge grin on his face.

“What do you want to do today?”

“Be with you,” Cas says, “We can do whatever, it doesn’t matter as long it’s with you.”

“Whatever you want, Cas,” Dean says and gives him another kiss. “I think we should stay close to the house, though. I ran into one of those British dudes again last night.”

“What did he want?”

“Nothing. But it was odd, him being there. It was one coincidence too many for my liking.”

“Then we stay here,” Cas says, “I don’t mind. I like your house.”

The plan, however, doesn’t work out as he intended to when Dean realizes he neglected grocery shopping for too long, so he takes Cas on a ride into town. They stroll around the supermarket, no dubious Brits in sight so far, and Cas gets another lesson in human life and its necessities. Their shopping trip takes forever as Cas asks about what feels like every product in there and then he makes Dean buy all kinds of foods to try (and they almost get into trouble when Cas is caught touching every single fruit and vegetable, inspecting them closely).

“Next time, don’t touch anything,” he says when they’re carrying the bags to the car and almost drops everything when he realizes what he just said. There won’t be a next time and Dean swallows the bitter taste of this sudden awareness.

“Dean?” Cas says.

He opens the trunk, puts his bag inside and sits down on the edge. “I’m going to miss you so much, Cas,” he says and he hates how whiny his voice sounds.

“We’ve still got time,” Cas says and, after putting away his bag, pulls Dean into a hug.

“I know,” Dean says, “let’s not waste it with being miserable.”

Back at home, Dean suggests they go outside in the backyard to enjoy the spring sun and Cas asks him to read some of his fabulous tales that inspire his work, and so they cuddle up as good as they can on Dean’s garden chairs and Dean reads him Hans Christian Andersen and Brother’s Grimm and a tiny bit of Lovecraft.

At lunchtime, Cas helps him cook and together they chop vegetables, seemingly attached by their hips now and Dean loves it, their playing house. He almost dares to imagine a version or their lives where it could always be like this. However, besides the obvious impossibility of Cas staying with him, he doubts Cas would want it. Cas is having a good time getting to know humanity but he’d never give up being a merman, even if he had a choice. It’s what he truly is, a mythical being roaming the seas, with glowing eyes and healing powers—why would he want to throw that all away for one, insignificant mortal? He would never.

“I’m going to miss food,” Cas says over the dining table, poking around on his plate with the fork.

Dean doesn’t say anything, just gives him a weak smile.

After they’ve eaten, Dean does the dishes and Cas is studying more of his books, this one with particular interest, but he can’t see the cover from afar. When he’s done, he walks over to him, still not done with the book, drying his hand on a kitchen towel. “What you got there?” he says and his jaw drops when Cas shows him.

“People are suspicious when they see a naked man but then you’re dedicating entire books to them,” he says.

It isn’t porn or anything. It’s a photography book, tastefully depicting naked people in various poses, all black and white.

“It’s for reference,” Dean says and snatches the book out of Cas’s hands. “For my drawings, you know.” There’s nothing dirty about it. It shouldn’t be. But somehow he feels like he ought to preserve Cas’s innocence.

“You could draw me,” he says, “you know, for reference,” and Dean certainly doesn’t miss that smirk.

He swallows hard. “You think?”

“Yes. Your earlier pictures of me are good, but not particularly detailed. Don’t you want to preserve my image as it really is?”

Taking a sharp breath through his nose, Dean says, “Sure.” It’s always better to have a model.

“What should I do then? Should I sit, or—”

“Lie down,” Dean says, determined now. “On the couch. And take off the shirt.” He’s biting his lip as Cas does so.

“Like this,” Cas asks then, lowering himself onto the sofa, bare-chested.

Dean walks over to him, prompting Cas to sit up a little bit more. He rearranges the position of the legs to his liking—one foot flat on the cushion and knee upwards, the other stretched out. He takes Cas’s arm, fingertips sizzling with every gentle touch, propping the elbow on the armrest for Cas to leisurely lean his temple against his hand. It doesn’t take more than a brush over the chin to adjust the direction he’s facing. Dean wants Cas to look at him when he draws. Eager, he rummages through his art supplies, opting for a charcoal pencil and grabs his sketch pad. He slides his desk chair over the floor, the grating sound uncomfortably loud, and sits, slightly offset, not right opposite Cas, but so that he would look at Dean over the length of his body, gaze veering to the side just a bit.

Dean starts with a quick sketch, a light outline of Cas’s body, trying to get the proportions right. Cas is quiet and Dean avoids his gaze, focusing on the work. A nude model would have been perfect, of course, but Dean didn’t want to take advantage of him, even though Cas wouldn’t have considered it as such. Dean has seen him without clothes on more than once and he never ogled him, though he would be a liar claiming he didn’t like what he saw. Cas simply didn’t have any clothes and is probably unfamiliar with human conventions in that regard. When he turns back and grows a fish tail, taking off his pants is a necessity or otherwise they would be torn. Regardless, Cas is beautiful in every shape or form, dressed or nude.

Drawing every fine shadow, Dean accentuates the muscles that lie under the impeccable skin of Cas’s broad chest, every single one a work of art in itself. Each long finger is crafted with fine lines on the paper, hands attached to strong, defined arms. Dean remembers what they felt like holding and warming him in the chilly waters of the Pacific. He draws Cas’s sharp chin, thick lips that kissed him so hungrily this morning, big and kind eyes, full dark hair.

“I think I’m done,” Dean says after a while.

“Let me see,” Cas says and breaks his pose.

After a moment of hesitation, Dean sighs and turns the pad around, handing it over to Cas.

“It’s perfect,” he says matter-of-factly.

“You can be honest with me,” Dean says.

“I am,” Cas insists, locking eyes with him. _You are perfect._

A flush of embarrassment blooms on his face, prompted by Cas’s praise. He’s good, yes, but only a once a generation artist might be able to capture the sophisticated wonder of Cas’s entire being. Dean is not worthy.

He takes a shivering breath. “Thank you,” he says. “I need to wash my hands,” he then announces, changing the subject and holds up his blackened fingers as proof.

Dean stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as the water runs over his hands, washing away streaks of black dust, the drain swallowing every droplet like the hungry sun takes away hour after hour of their precious time. They’re running out. Tomorrow night the moon will stand full against the dark sky. Cas had two weeks but they only got a few days together. They were robbed.

Dean is rubbing a cool hand over his face, pinching the top of his nose. He finds Cas sitting on the bed when he leaves the bathroom. He turns his head when he hears Dean coming.

“I wish I could stay with you tonight,” he says, his hand absently sliding over the comforter.

“We could still spend the night together,” Dean suggests. “I’ll camp out in the woods, stay by the pool. I can manage a night without sleep. You can keep me warm.”

“Are you sure?” Cas asks.

“Of course I am,” Dean says, “I won’t let any second we’ve got left go to waste. I don’t mind. I just want to be with you before you—” _Before you have to leave._ He can’t say it.

Dean ponders continuing like this, even after Cas has got a fish tail full-time again. They could still be together, by the waterfall, even during the day, or meet up at the beach. It’s a risk, though. They could be spotted, Cas could get in danger. And this isn’t a life, sneaking around all the time, one of them living in the ocean, the other ashore. In the end, it won’t be worth it, considering Dean’s mortality. Compared to Cas’s lifespan, Dean isn’t more than a blink of the eye, eventually forgotten.

How pretentious of him to even think Cas would want that. A merman is free, he can go wherever he likes. He won’t stick around this small town just so he can spend a few more hours with Dean. He’s going to get bored. Sooner or later Cas will have enough of him, curious to meet other, more exciting human beings, maybe, or feel the sudden urge to find his own people and tell them what he’s learned about humanity. Either way, Dean won’t be enough in the long run.

Cas gets up from the bed. “So, you come with me tonight?” he asks.

“Yes,” Dean says. His hands find the back of Cas’s head, fingers combing through his hair, and pulls him close into a kiss. He withdraws just slightly then, looking Cas in the eye. He wants to say so much but he can’t.

Cas’s hands rest on Dean’s waist and, at loss for words, he kisses him again. One hand slides down Cas’s bare back, skin like silk, a steady rise and fall with every breath under Dean’s touch. He presses the entire length of his body against his, desperate to feel every inch of him, and Cas does the same. Dean can feel him harden at his middle. He doesn’t want to exploit Cas but he only seems to grow with every starved out kiss. Dean slows him down, holding him back just lightly, Cas chasing his lips, open-mouthed, but Dean puts a gentle finger on them to keep him at bay. Cas opens his eyes, puzzled. Dean’s hands glide down his bare sides, thumbs pressing into the dips below his hipbone, stopping at the denim barrier of his jeans. One-handed, he pops the button, eyes never leaving Cas’s. A hot exhale hits his face, waiting for Cas to object or ask what’s going on but he stays still. Both hands on the jeans, Dean draws the zipper open. Cas gasps. Then, Dean proceeds to take off his own shirt, pulling it over his head without hurry, Cas’s jaw is hanging open as he watches. Carelessly, he discards the shirt on the floor and reaches up to Cas’s face, stroking a palm over his cheek.

“You can take your pants off now, if you want,” he says, “and I’ll do the same.”

Cas nods so slightly, it’s barely noticeably, but he pulls the jeans down his thighs until they slide off on their own and steps out, kicking them to the side. As promised, Dean drops his pants as well, gets rid of jeans, underwear and socks in one swift motion. The sudden exposure makes his erection throb with anticipation. Cas looks down at their bodies.

With the tip of a finger at his chin, Dean lifts his gaze, searching his eyes for any sign of discomfort, and when he finds himself in the clear, kisses him again.

“Lie down, okay?” he says then, guiding Cas towards the bed.

He lowers Cas onto the mattress, on his back, signaling him to scoot towards the headboard a bit, and lies at his side, propped up on one arm, half-draped over him. Long and languid, he kisses Cas, his free hand stroking his hip, fingertips pressing into the warm flesh. He lets his hand run up Cas’s side, then over his chest, directing his attention to the solid muscle, daring a firm grip and circling his thumb over the nipple. Cas’s hold at his waist tightens in response as he lets out sigh.

The hand slides over Cas’s stomach, ever so lightly, over his hipbone and seizing a handful of thigh. Cas lets out a whine, pushing Dean’s face away from his.

“Everything alright, love?” Dean whispers but instead of forming a reply, Cas’s lips crash into his once again, the hand at his hip grasping tighter.

His hardness is pressing into Cas’s other thigh but he restrains himself from shamelessly pushing into him to seek relief. Cas ought to be his priority.

Dean’s hand roams over Cas’s lower abdomen, clutching at his hip every now and then, before it eventually glides down Cas’s inner thigh, the one he’s straining against. The back of his hand brushes the smooth skin of Cas’s erection and he can feel a twitch upon the sudden contact.

He breaks their kiss again, searching Cas’s eye, then casts a quick look at Cas’s prominent arousal, full and eager, before folding his fingers around it, watching Cas’s every expression as he does so.

Cas lets out a strangled whine when Dean’s fist closes tight around him, his fingers digging deep into the flesh at Dean’s waist. “Shh, it’s okay, my love,” Dean says, moving his hand downwards Cas’s gradually swelling cock. He’s solid now under his touch. He can feel himself getting harder at the realization, unable to restrain his hips from making a slight forward motion, digging into Cas’s thigh. It’s almost too good to be true. He bites at his lower lip, exhaling sharply through his nose. His hand on Cas’s cock moves up again, squeezing the tip, thumb circling on the top, spreading the few droplets that glisten there in the strong beams of the afternoon sun falling through the shades.

He gives Cas a deep, long kiss, hand still tight around him, dragging it up and down. Then, he turns towards Cas, draping his body now over him completely, lowering himself so that their groins meet, feeling Cas’s thick length slide into place against his and it feels amazing. He thrusts his hip forward once and lets out a groan. “You feel amazing,” he sighs because it needs saying.

Cas nods under him, he opens his mouth about to say something but the words get stuck in his throat. Instead, he pulls Dean’s head down into a kiss, starting to move his hips as well, thrusting up against Dean.

They move together, gasping for air as their arousal grows. Cas has his arms slung around his back, roaming, as if he’s trying to feel every inch under his fingertips, not willing to leave a single spot untouched. Dean has a hand in Cas’s hair, long and soft, thumb grazing his temple, his cheekbone. The other hand sneaks between them, getting ahold of Cas first and his eyes fling open when his fingers wrap around him once again, pupils wide and dark, almost replacing the blue. Dean breathes against his mouth, only a fragment of an inch away from him, taking in the sight of lust in Cas’s eyes.

“Easy,” he says, taking them both in his hand now, working slow but determined.

He can’t get enough of the look on Cas’s face, slack jaw, mouth half open, blown eyes fixed on him. Then, eventually, his eyes close, dark eyelashes a stark contrast against flushed cheeks. Cas is biting his lip, letting out small sighs with every thrust into Dean’s fist, and Dean buries his face in the crook of his neck, breathing in Cas’s scent. He smells like a fresh ocean breeze on a winter morning.

Cas’s big hand wraps around his head. Then, his back arches off the mattress, accompanied by a pull at Dean’s hair and a long, loud moan, he spills over Dean’s hand and cock, sending an intense and final pulse through him before he follows Cas into oblivion.

They breathe, Cas lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, with Dean under his arm who gulps down air with his head on his heaving chest. His fingers card through Dean’s hair, not minding the sheen of sweat on the back of his neck. Dean never wants to move again because this moment, this right here, it’s everything. Cas is more than he ever wanted, more than he ever could have hoped for. Dean might have been in love before, but never like this. He never longed for someone so much, with every fiber of his body on fire, his heart breaking at the mere thought of inevitable separation. He wishes the world would stop around them, standing still, never moving again, an eternal day.

Dean lifts his head. “Hey,” he says, hushed. “How are you?”

“Good,” Cas growls, contentment on his face.

“That’s good,” Dean says, absently, forcing away dark thoughts. He rather kisses Cas again. It’s been too long since he last felt Cas’s lush lips against his, tasted his tongue.

He pulls back once, forever stunned by what he sees beneath him. “You’re beautiful,” Dean says.

Cas shakes his head. “You are,” he says, still hoarse, reaching out a hand, tracing imaginary lines on his cheek. “Remarkable,” he says, “the tiny little dots on your skin. Your eyes, sparkling like a river in the sunlight.” Self-conscious, Dean rolls to his side and hides his face behind his arm.

“Don’t say that,” he whines.

“But it’s true,” Cas says, shoving away the arm that hinders his view. “The most wonderful human being.” Dean can’t help but let out a brief chuckle and Cas laughs with him.

Now Dean is on his back and Cas above him. Something cool drops onto his thigh. He sighs. There’s no way he’s getting up now, so he reaches over the bed, finding the boxers he slept in last night and wipes away the consequence of their release, disposing it on the floor when he’s done.

“When I think of my favorite aspect of what humanity is like,” Cas says, “this is it. Lying here with you, feeling you against me. As if there’s not a single sorrow in the world.”

“Me too,” Dean says, cuddling up to him.

They stay like this for long, hours maybe, naked, feeling each other’s warmth, Cas’s hand stroking his shoulder, feather-light. Dean dozes off every now and then, making an effort, though, to stay awake enough to experience every second of this. From time to time, they exchange kisses, whispering sweet words into the other’s ear, full of love, without making a full confession however, if it’s even necessary anymore. Dean feels loved and he hopes he was able to express the same towards Cas.

Cas is quiet, even breaths next to his ear, holding him. Dean has slipped into a state between dream and reality, picturing their life together, having countless moments like this, waking up in Cas’s arms, no need to say goodbye. No _final_ goodbye.

A knock on the door startles him, the fantasy running through the fingers of his mind like sand, snatching the peace away from him. There’s another knock, loud, persistent. Dean sighs and untangles himself from Cas’s embrace, evoking a whimper from him. “I’ll be right back,” he says, quickly throwing on some clothes. It’s getting late, though. Whoever it is to disturb, Dean should probably thank them for the wake-up call.

The first thing he sees when he opens the door is expensive clothing, a silk scarf wrapped around the man’s neck. Brit, he thinks, the one who shaves.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Winchester,” he says, “please excuse my unannounced visit but I’m dying to know about your great wood carvings here.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean says, leaning against the doorframe so the guy won’t be able to look inside.

“I saw your artworks at Mr. Moseley’s shop today and she told me about the statues you’re exhibiting in your front yard.”

“I’m not really exhibiting. I just keep them out here.” Why would Missouri tell a stranger where he lives?

“Please, tell me they’re for sale,” the man says.

“I’m not sure, Mr.—?”

“Ketch,” he says, “Arthur Ketch. Oh, I would love to have one of these. Just tell me a price.”

“Which one would you be interested in?” Dean asks.

“I must confess, I’ve really fallen in love with the merman,” he says.

A cold shiver runs down Dean’s back. He almost forgot he made it after Cas had left the other day.

“I’m afraid that one’s not for sale,” he says.

“Please, I’d pay whatever you want,” Ketch says and fishes his wallet out of the breast pocket of his cashmere coat. “One hundred and twenty dollars,” he offers.

“Sorry, no,” Dean says.

“One hundred and fifty,” he says and retrieves three more ten dollar bills. Dean shakes his head. “Two hundred.” Dean keeps denying, though he could really use the money. “Five hundred,” Ketch says eventually, “my last offer.”

“It’s not for sale,” Dean repeats. “I would really appreciate you leaving my property now.”

Ketch sighs and puts money and wallet back into his pocket. “A pity,” he says. “Though, admittedly, I’d rather have the model anyway.” His eyes darken, followed by a predatory reveal of his teeth.

“Pardon?” Dean says, chocking a little.

“The one you keep in there,” Ketch says, gesturing towards the house, “the merman, I mean.”

“You’re crazy,” Dean says, “you should go now.” He wants to shut the door but Ketch pushes a custom-made shoe in the way.

“Go away or I’ll call the police,” Dean threatens.

“Good luck with that,” Ketch says but removes his foot and Dean is able to close the door and turns every lock on it.

He’s catching his breath, listening for footsteps but he’s certain Ketch is still there, behind the door. What is he waiting for?

“I said go!” he shouts.

“Only if you hand over the merman,” Ketch says, disturbingly calm.

“You’re insane,” Dean replies. “Mermen only exist in fairy tales.”

“You in particular know that this is not true,” Ketch says.

“What’s going on Dean?” Cas asks, walking into the living room. He has gotten dressed in the meantime.

Dean shushes him. “Go back to the bedroom,” he whispers. “Go!” Cas looks confused but does what he’s told anyway.

“You’re delusional,” Dean yells again at the door. “Did you escape from a fancy insane asylum or what?”

Ketch laughs. “My acquaintance and I,” he says, “we’re Men of Letters. We study the supernatural. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able yet to get ahold of a live merman. This is the closest we’ve gotten so far.”

“Yeah? I don’t see any mermen around here,” Dean says. He feels cold sweat pouring out of every pore on his body.

“We weren’t certain either at first,” Ketch says. “We found the police report of sightings of a naked man by the shore, the assumed drowning and miraculous resurrection. We’ve had evidence of merfolk growing legs and walking around just like people. Maybe we had a lead. Catching one on dry land would be easier than going around with a boat and a fishing net anyway. We just needed proof first that we weren’t chasing after a plain old human with an aversion to clothes. But you got us the proof, Dean.” The air is knocked out of his lungs at the mention of his name. “You lead us right to him, thoughtless, having your rendezvous out by the beach where everyone could watch, thinking yourself safe under the cloak of darkness.”

Dean can’t breathe. Did they follow them last night? Did they see him while Dean had his head up in the clouds, making out with a merman?

“I’m calling the cops now,” Dean announces.

His phone is still on his nightstand. Cas is sitting on the bed, looking worried. “Everything’s going to be fine,” Dean promises and dials 911. No signal. He tries again, still nothing. He tries to call his brother. It’s hopeless.

“Dean, what is going on? Who were you talking to?” Cas is scooting over on the bed, taking him by the wrist to get his attention.

“Don’t panic, okay,” Dean says and sits on the edge of the bed. He isn’t quite sure who he needed to reassure with that. “One of those British guys, the taller one. He says they’re here to get you. Somehow they found out who you are.” Cas is pulling back but Dean grabs his hands, gives them an affirmative squeeze. “I won’t let them get to you.”

“How do we make them go away?” Cas asks.

Dean considers it for a moment. “Wait here,” he says and goes back out into the living room. He peeks through the front window. The other guy is there, too, standing by the car, holding some kind of device in his hand. It doesn’t look like anything Dean has ever seen.

“You can’t escape, Dean,” Ketch says, his face suddenly at the window, looking him directly in the eye. “We’ve acquired quite some knowledge over the past centuries. If you try to make a run, you will be stopped right at the edge of your property. You won’t make it past the end of your front yard. And as for calling for help, you might have already noticed that this isn’t an option either.”

“Why don’t you just break through the door and get us?” He shouldn’t give them any ideas but it’s a valid question. What are they waiting for?

“Why should we get our hands dirty?” Ketch says. “Give the police any reason there was some kind of crime happening when all is over. We don’t want to hurt you, Dean. We just want the merman.”

“Go to hell!” Dean says.

“Not the most pleasant place I can think of,” Ketch chuckles. “Your precious little merman will turn eventually, reveal himself to us and when he can neither run nor swim away, we’re coming to get him. When you come to, Dean, he’ll be gone. No evidence left that he ever existed beyond your imagination.”

“People have seen him around town. Everyone will know that he’s missing.”

“He came out of nowhere and went back there. No-one even knows who he is. You won’t be able to find him where we’re taking him. And even if you would, you’d be too late. We’d already know what we want. We’d already have learned all his secrets, dissected him, put every single part of him in a jar of formaldehyde.”

“You’re a monster!” Dean exclaims. “He isn’t an animal that you can just treat like a hunting trophy.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Dean,” Ketch says. “The monster is he, the merman.”

“He isn’t!”

“He is, Dean. Magic is dangerous. There’s nothing natural about it.”

“Don’t you use magic yourself?”

“Only to protect us from treacherous beings like the one you’ve locked yourself in with.”

There’s no point in discussing this with Ketch, no sense to talk into him. Dean goes back to the bedroom. Cas has been standing behind the door.

“He’s lying,” he says, on the verge of tears. “Dean, please, you have to believe he’s lying.”

“I know, Cas,” he says, pulling him close. “He’s a sick, lying bastard.”

He lets out a shaky breath and kisses the top of Cas’s head. “We need to get out of here,” he says, “before it’s too late.” The sun is descending at a threatening rate. He lets go of Cas and runs over to the window facing the back yard. Nobody is there. He walks to the back door, carefully unlocking it and sneaking a glance through the crack. It looks like they’re in the clear, escaping out the back. But they can’t cross the property line. Maybe Ketch was bluffing but Dean isn’t going to risk that, not with Cas’s life being at stake.

“We can make it out through the woods,” he says. “There’s an old footbridge. We cross the river. You can hide there when you turn. I’ll make my way back into town by myself and get help.”

Cas kisses him. “Okay,” he says.

They squeeze through the back door, Dean ahead, and dash across the back yard, finding safety behind the shrubbery. Once again Dean regrets not having fixed the bridge earlier but it supported his weight before, it’ll carry the two of them across as well. Dean goes first, taking small and careful steps. The bridge is shaky underneath him but Dean is confident it will last long enough. When he’s made it safely across the river, he signals Cas to follow. Hands reaching out, ready to catch him, Dean is standing on the other end, waiting for Cas to come across. There’s a crack and Dean’s heart sinks into his stomach as Cas stops, standing as still as possible.

“We’re good,” he says, releasing a relieved breath. “Go on.”

Trembling, Cas sets one foot in front of the other. A smile appears on his face when he’s only mere inches away from Dean’s touch and then, a board under him breaks and Cas falls, Dean reaching out only to remain empty-handed. “Cas!”

Cas’s body meets the surface and then—nothing. He lands on the water, stumbling onto his feet, the wild river beneath him, walking on it like the Messiah.

“What just happened?” Dean says, pulling Cas into his arms.

“I don’t seem to be able to break the surface,” he says. “I don’t understand.”

“They must have done something to the water, magicked it or something.”

“They want to make sure I can’t swim away.”

“Bastards,” Dean says. He can only hope his exclaim from before remained undetected. “Change of plans, then. We stay hidden at the side of the road and try to make it to my car.”

“What if they follow us?”

“They will. But I know the town better. I’ll get rid of them, if only for long enough to get help.”

Quietly, they creep along the road, sprinting over the bridge and back into the shrubbery, until Dean spots his car from afar. It’s the only car in front of his house. Have they given up yet? Did they notice they’re gone? Then, however, he sees Ketch, sitting on the bench in front of his house, relaxed, like he isn’t just waiting to abduct and kill someone.

Dean turns to Cas and whispers, “When I say ‘run’, you run. I’ll get into the car on the passenger side and slide across the bench. You jump in at the back and stay there and make sure you duck.”

The sun is almost gone. They better hurry. “Run,” Dean says and sprints off. He wants to turn around and check if Cas is still there but this will only cost them precious time. Time they don’t have. He tears the door open, hops in, immediately closing the door again as soon as he’s inside and slides into the driver’s seat, starting the engine. A door in the back is drawn shut and he sees Cas in the rearview mirror. Tires screeching on the asphalt, they drive off, ending all doubts that they’re still inside the house. Then, only a few yards in, Dean rams his foot on the break. The other Brit is blocking the road with his car. “Shit,” Dean says.

He gets the car into reverse and goes back. What if there’s more magic involved and they won’t make it past here? Anyway, Dean hits the gas again, darting forward. There’s a heavy bump as if he just ran over something but then he realizes he blew a tire. “Nononono,” he cries out but keeps going. The car is hard to maneuver now, though, when he casts another look into the rearview mirror again, he realizes there is no other way out than moving on and torturing the car as long as it goes. Cas is wriggling in the backseat, a fish tail growing out from under his T-shirt. If they get them now, Cas is doomed.

The car won’t take them much farther. Dean can see sparks bursting at the back through the side mirror, illuminating the night. The noise doesn’t help either, though it might shy their chasers away, drawing too much attention.

The curb stone in front of Sam’s house is as far as the Impala will take them. It’s far enough.

Dean gets out of the car and opens the back door, checking on Cas. “How am I getting you out of there?” he says. Then he spots a wheelbarrow on the neighbor’s lawn. “Yes,” he says and goes to get it.

“You need to hold still, Cas,” Dean says when he pulls him out of the back seat, arms hooked under Cas’s armpits.

“I feel really weird,” Cas says, “so helpless. I don’t like this at all.”

“Me neither,” Dean says, “but we got to get you up to the house somehow.” Finally, he gets the merman out of the car and in the wheelbarrow. He pushes him up the pathway and when he’s halfway there, the door opens, Sam peeking out.

“What the—” he says but shuts up when he sees Dean approaching him.

“I could use some help,” he says and Sam freezes right in front of the doorway.

“Dude, get out of the way. We’ve got evil merman hunters at our heels.”

Sam gapes, eyes like saucers, but eventually he moves, making room for Dean to push the wheelbarrow inside.

“Close the door, dammit,” Dean snaps at him and, probably only half-aware of it, Sam follows his order.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks Cas, bending down to him.

Cas is shaking. He looks pale. “I feel strange,” he says.

“Do you need water? Should we get you into the water?” Dean asks, worried now…more worried than before.

“But how?” Cas asks, his voice weak. “Even if we make it to the ocean, I doubt I can get in. You know they did something to it.”

“The tub,” Dean says, looking at Sam. “We need to get him into the bathtub.”

“Dean,” Sam says. “What the hell is going on here?” His voice is trembling. “What is _this?”_

_“This,”_ Dean says, getting furious at the way he said it, “his name is Cas, you know that.

“But what’s—he’s got a fish tail, Dean!”

“I know he’s got a fish tail, Sam. He’s a merman. That’s why we need to get him into the tub ASAP.” When Sam still doesn’t move, he adds, “I can explain later. Now we need to help him.”

“I’ll take this end, you take the tail,” he says, lifting Cas under his arms again. He notices Sam’s slightly disgusted look as he stands at Cas’s tail end, dreading to touch it. “Just take it,” Dean says, annoyed.

“Huh, it isn’t slimy or anything,” Sam wonders out loud and Dean could hit him if he hadn’t half of Cas’s weight straining his arms.

“He’s drying out,” Dean says, “hurry up now!”

It takes them forever to carry Cas up the stairs. Sam lives in their parent’s house and he curses whoever made the floorplan to only provide a full bathroom upstairs. When they’ve made it all the way, they carefully put him into the bathtub and Dean plugs the drain and turns on the faucet. “How’s the temperature?” he asks, after pulling Cas’s T-shirt over his head, and catches Sam rolling his eyes at the question.

“It’s fine,” Cas says, the color coming back to his face.

Dean kneels beside the tub, rubbing water over Cas’s chest. “Better?” he asks.

“Mhm,” Cas hums and Dean strokes a thumb over his cheek.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I just need to talk to my brother real quick.”

As soon as the bathroom door closes behind them, Sam says, “Dean, what the hell? You mind explaining this to me.”

“Well, long story short, turns out the naked guy I picked off the beach is real-life merman who just happens to grow legs from time to time. I took him in and promised to teach him about the human way of life.”

“You’re kidding?” Sam says.

“Does it look like I’m kidding? Didn’t you just see it with your own two eyes?”

Sam shakes his head in disbelief, long strands of brown hair falling into his face. “This is crazy,” he says, pushing back his hair.

“You know what’s even crazier?” Dean says. “Those two British dudes, they were in the library, remember? Apparently, they hunt mythical creatures like Cas and they want to take him away and probe him and put his remains in a jar.”

“What? The Oxford guys?”

“They call themselves Men of Letters or something.”

“Did they threaten you?”

“They came to my fucking house and put some weird spell on my property so we couldn’t escape. And they did something to my phone and the internet so I couldn’t call for help. They even did something to the river, probably the ocean as well, to make sure Cas can’t swim away. He looked like straight out of a Bible movie when he fell into the river….or, onto, I guess.”

“Have they been following you?”  
“I don’t know. But my car won’t be so hard to find.”

“We should call the police,” Sam says.

“And tell them what? That two guys from England are after the merman in your bathtub?”

“Just say there were intruders at your house and you’re afraid they’d come after you here.”

“I can’t,” Dean says, “not before sunrise.”

“What happens at sunrise?”

“Cas turns again, grows legs. I can’t tell a cop that he’s a merman. What if they lock him up in some kind of government facility, doing the same things to him this Ketch guy would, or worse?”

Sam purses his lips. “What?” Dean asks.

“Why are you helping him if that means putting yourself at risk? Why do you think he’s your responsibility?”

“Why _don’t_ you think he’s worth saving?”

“I didn’t say that, Dean. I just want to know why you’re so desperate about him.”

Dean looks away and Sam lets out a sigh, fulling understanding. His brother knows him too well. “Jeez, Dean. What did you guys do while you were too busy for even as much as texting me?” Dean stares down at his feet now. “Did you—did you sleep with him?”

“That’s none of your business,” Dean snaps which is confirmation enough for Sam.

“How?” he says. “He’s half fish.”

“When he’s got legs he’s also got everything else and he’s not ill-equipped—”

“Ew, Dean, stop it,” Sam whines, putting fingers in his ears.

“Your fault for asking,” Dean mumbles.

“So,” Sam says, crossing his arms over his chest, “what are we going to do now?”

“Make sure all doors and windows are looked,” Dean says, “and I’ll get Dad’s rifle from the basement.”

Their father had been an avid hunter and he used to take Dean with him sometimes when he got older but Dean stopped killing things after Dad died. He’d much rather sit outside and watch wild animals without meaning any harm to them and hunting was never Sam’s things either, though Dad had tried to get him into it as well. He was furious when Sam got into environmental activism at college and called their old man out on murder over a Thanksgiving dinner. Sam wanted to get rid of it after Dad’s death. “We probably live in the safest place in America where nothing ever happens,” he said, yet Dean convinced him to keep it. Just in case.

The case has come now. Dean sets the right number on the combination lock—Mom’s birthday—and opens the cabinet. He takes the rifle out every now and then to clean, as his father has taught him, so it should be working. Ammunition is in a box on the one shelf inside the cabinet. He loads the rifle and puts some extra rounds into his pocket. Just in case.

It’s quiet when he gets back upstairs. Maybe Sam is on the upper floor now, checking the windows there as well. As he steps into the living room, however, he can feel a slight draft and his heart stops for a moment when he realizes the French doors that lead out on the patio stand slightly ajar. They weren’t like this before, Dean is certain.

“Sammy,” he whispers, fully aware that every noise he makes could attract the intruder, or worse, intruders, plural. “Sammy,” he says again, worried now, almost trips over a body on the floor. “Sammy, no.” He checks his surroundings before bending down to check if he’s still breathing and, thank god, he is. His brother must’ve gotten hit in the head but apart from being unconscious he seems fine, no blood or anything and his pulse is okay as far as Dean can tell. He really should call for help but all the horrors popping into his mind when he thinks of Cas ending up in federal confinement stop him from doing so. Sam will be fine—they’re not here for him. _Dad_ _would kill you if he could see you now._

Trying to stay as quiet as possible yet hurrying his step, he sneaks upstairs. What if he is too late? What is they already did something to Castiel he will never recover from? It’ll be all his fault, trapping him in here, in the bathtub of the house he grew up in. Cas would still walk among us, undetected, if Dean hadn’t insisted on coming with him last night, sticking around even after Cas had turned.

The bathroom door is still closed. He turns while still holding onto the rifle with one hand. Then, he grips it tightly again with both hands, ready to shoot, and pushes the door open with the barrel.

“Put the gun down,” Ketch says behind him. The cold something pressed against the back of head convinces him to follow Ketch’s orders.

He ushers Dean inside the bathroom, rifle now leaning against the wall outside where it is no use to him whatsoever. “Thanks to your brother for letting me in,” Ketch says.

“If you hurt him, I will hunt you down and kill you,” Dean says, staring Ketch in the eye through the mirror.

“Don’t worry about him. A mild concussion is presumably the worst he’ll have to deal with.”

Then, Ketch turns his attention towards the tub where Cas sits, unmoving, probably paralyzed with fear. Dean wants to tell him that everything is going to be fine, though it arguably doesn’t look good right now.

“And there he is,” Ketch says. “Isn’t he a beauty? I can see why you fell for him.” Dean wants Ketch’s nose to get acquainted with his fist so badly.

“Don’t you dare touching him,” he says.

“Oh, I will,” Ketch says, leaning closer to Dean’s ear, “I will put on gloves and touch him in the filthiest ways possible with all my favorite instruments, starting with the scalpel.”

Dean ducks and knees him in the stomach.

Ketch grunts but recovers quickly. Dean has only made it a few feet towards the tub, shielding Cas now with his body.

“You dirty little bastard,” Ketch says through gritted teeth. “I knew I should’ve gotten rid of you way earlier.” He cocks his gun and grins. “Say goodbye to your friend, Castiel,” he says and pulls the trigger.

After a shot was fired, Dean is waiting for the pain to come, eyes shut tight. He still can’t feel anything—maybe he’s in shock. Maybe he’s hallucinating. Maybe he’s already dead.

He lets out an experimental breath and opens his eyes. Ketch isn’t standing where he was before. Instead he’s lying on the ground, blood pooling out of his lifeless body, meandering across the white tile floor.

Sheriff Mills is standing in the hallway, right outside the door, gun in her hand.

“Jody?” he says, gulping air at the same time.

“Dean,” she says, “are you alright?”

She’s packing away her gun, about to walk into the room and Dean looks over his shoulder in terror, giving her even more reason to come inside and take a look. He tries to stop her but after a glare, Jody pushes him aside, the sight of the merman in the tub eliciting a strangled gasp from her.

“Wha—What?” she says, her eyes switching between Dean and Cas.

“Please, don’t hurt him.” He’s begging.

“I—uh.” She rubs her hands down her face. “What… what is he?” she asks.

“He’s a merman and that man wanted to kill him because of that. Cas didn’t do anything wrong. He’s just trying to live his life. Please, Jody, don’t tell anyone about him. He can’t end up in some lab with people experimenting on him,” Dean says, sitting on the edge of the tub and reaching for Cas’s hand.

“But…legs, he had legs.”

“That happens sometimes,” Dean says, looking at Cas now, reassuring.

“That ha—,” Jody stumbles once again. “Okay.” She turns and leaves the bathroom. Dean can hear her steps on the stairs.

“How are you?” he asks Cas.

“I don’t know. Is it over?” He looks tired. He’s never looked tired before. Cas doesn’t sleep.

“Not sure where the other guy is. Let’s hope he bolted.” He looks at Ketch’s body in the center of the room. Cas can’t leave until sunrise but he shouldn’t have to look at this in the meantime. He takes the shower curtain off the rail and drapes it over Ketch and the puddle of blood beside him. That’ll do for now.

“Is it okay if I leave you for a minute? I need to check on Sam and make sure Jody isn’t calling for assistance.”

“Go,” Cas says. “I’ll stay here.” There’s a sly smile on his face and Dean feels a sudden urge to kiss it.

“Call if you need anything,” Dean says, barely a breath away from Cas’s lips.

The adrenalin is gradually wearing off and all he wants is to lie down, with Cas by his side.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam has a cold pack pressed to the back of his head. They’re sitting on the sofa and Dean is telling the whole story in detail—the important details at least.

“The only thing I don’t get is how you just appeared out of nowhere, Jody. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad—you saved me. You saved Cas.”

“I called her,” Sam rasps. “And before you say anything, be thankful I did.”

Dean nods slightly. Of course Sam’s right. If he hadn’t called for help, Dean would be dead and Ketch would have taken off with Cas to do god knows what to him.

“What are you going to do now?” he says, directed at Jody.

She sighs. “Well, there’s a corpse in the bathroom with a bullet fired from my gun in it. The way I see it, he broke into Sam’s house, knocked him unconscious and threatened to kill you. So, it’s pretty clear what I’ll write into my report.”

“What about the bathtub situation?” Dean asks.

“There’s nothing worth mentioning about the bathtub. The dead guy’s motive remains unknown.” There’s a twinkle in her eye as she speaks.

“Thank you,” Dean murmurs.

“Hey, I just learned mermen exist. I’m still questioning my sanity. Don’t need any of my superiors to do the same.”

Dean spends most of the remaining night hours by Cas’s side. If he dozes off from time to time, sitting on the floor next to the tub and doing his best to ignore what’s under the shower curtain, Cas doesn’t mention it. This was their last night together and it was supposed to be special, just the two of them, making the most of it, but those Men of Letters assholes had to ruin it.

When the morning comes and Cas can finally leave the tub, Jody calls for Ketch’s body to be picked up. Back at the station, she runs his prints through the system but nothing comes up. She orders for his DNA sample to be checked as well, though it’s likely nothing will come up either. They find out, however, where he and his partner—he checked in under the name of Mick Davis—were staying at and identified his rental car but Davis seemed to have headed to the nearest airport as soon as things took a bad turn for them. He doesn’t appear on any passenger lists but Jody has no doubt that he’s fled the country.

A big chunk of their day is wasted on dealing with this and covering up Ketch’s intentions and making sure Davis won’t come back to end what Ketch started. It’s not like Dean had imagined. He dreamed of spending the day at home with Cas, in bed maybe, making memories. The day goes by so quickly and Cas, for some reason, feels the need to say goodbye to Sam and Jody and to thank them for everything they’ve done. He wants to meet Missouri one last time as well.

As it turns out, Ketch came to visit her shop but Missouri felt that something was off about him and told him she was about to close and made him leave. She didn’t say a word about Dean or where he lived, obviously, but now she feels bad for not giving Dean a warning. “I should have known,” she says. Dean says not to blame herself.

“It was nice meeting you,” Cas tells her.

“Why are you leaving anyway?” Missouri asks him. “The bad guys are gone, aren’t they?”

“I have to,” he says and the finality of his words hit Dean with all their force. For the first time he feels like he can’t take it, like he won’t be able to survive Cas’s departure. He turns away from them, towards the window. It’s a sunny day outside, small waves glistening on the calm ocean.

“It’s your choice,” Missouri says.

_It’s not!_ Dean wants to yell at her, making false promises. And even if it was, why would Cas give up being a creature of the seas, magical, mystical, immortal?

Cas is looking at her with a frown. “Take care,” she says, hugging him and Dean could swear she’s whispering something into his ear. Cas’s frown stays on his face.

“Come on, Cas, let’s go,” Dean says. It’s mid-afternoon already and he’s exhausted. He takes Cas home and they eat an early dinner, then they make their way to the beach, taking a walk alongside the river.

They don’t talk much. Dean doesn’t feel like it anyway. He has his arm slung around Cas’s back and they just sit there, watching the steady tide and the sun’s slow but certain descend towards the horizon.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Dean says, face buried into Cas’s hair.

Cas moves his head so he can look Dean in the eye. “I wish I could stay with you.” He takes Dean’s hand and holds it tightly. “Of all the things, the wonders I’ve seen in my very long life, you, Dean Winchester, happen to stand out.”

“That’s not true,” Dean says.

“It is, Dean. I am so grateful I got to meet you and for all the things you showed me. These past few days have been the best of my life.”

He can’t bear talking about their inevitable parting anymore. Talking only makes it worse. So he kisses Cas. He kisses him deeply, hands at the sides of his face, fingers grazing his hair. He doubts he will ever be able to let go of him again.

“Dean,” Cas says, breaking away from him, panting. “Remember when you asked me if I’ve ever been in love? Ask me again.”

A breath catches in Dean’s throat, his heavy heart feels light all of a sudden, full of hope despite these desperate circumstances. “Castiel,” he says, a hand still on Cas’s cheek, “have you ever been in love with someone?”

Cas nods. “You,” he says, “I’m in love with you,” and he kisses Dean again.

They almost don’t realize that it’s getting darker, fast now. Dean can’t believe his eyes when he opens them. The last beams of sunlight reach up from below the skyline.

“I don’t want to go,” Cas says, his nose pressed against Dean’s cheek.

“I know.”

They sit like this until they can no longer avoid reality. Dean helps Cas onto his feet, using them one last time before their 84-year hiatus, and then out of his clothes. He follows Cas to the shoreline. Cas looks at him over his shoulder and wades till he’s waist-deep in the water. He turns around, his longing gaze directed at Dean and Dean stares back, forcing away the tears in his eyes. He doesn’t want to ruin their last moments by crying like a little kid.

His heartbeat it picking up the pace. “I love you,” Dean says, voice trembling, and then the water around Cas erupts a blinding white light and as suddenly as it started, it’s over.

Dean’s eyes are still adjusting to the dark but he’s quite certain Cas is gone. He can’t blame him—it’s dangerous being a merman around here after all.

“Dean?” he can hear Cas’s voice however. He’s still here, right where he was before the light went off.

“Cas,” he says. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Cas says, “although—” He’s moving towards him. He’s walking out of the ocean. He’s _walking._ He’s got legs. Still.

“Cas!” Dean exclaims and runs towards him, not caring about wet shoes, and pulls Cas into his arms.

“I suppose Missouri was right,” he says.

“Why? What did she say to you?”

“She said if I was sure about what I wanted, if I was truly certain that this is where I belonged, then it was up to me to decide. And I was certain, Dean, I am certain. About living a human life. About living it with you. I want _us.”_

“So…that’s it? Just like that? Why has it never worked before?”

“I never had any reason to stay,” Cas explains.

When Dean doesn’t respond, he asks, “Dean, what is it? Are you upset?”

“Do you really think I’m worth it? I mean, it’s who you are. You gave up everything…for me?”

“Dean, I love you. Nothing in my life has ever been as important to me as you are. I would give up more than my tail and my magic if it meant getting to be with you.”

“And you won’t regret it?”

“Never,” Cas says.

He seems so sure about it and what else can Dean do than believe him. “I love you,” he says and kisses him. It feels different now, better, without the ever-lurking sadness and certainty about a farewell that, in the end, never happened.

“Dean,” Cas says after a while, “I’m cold.”

Dean let’s out an amused breath through his nose. “Welcome to the perks of being human,” he says. “I’m too, actually. Let’s go home.”

This night, they finally get to spend together. Not hiding in the woods, out in the cold, but in the warmth of Dean’s bed, side by side. When he wakes up late in the morning, a brief wave of panic overcomes him that he’s slept in, missing out on precious time with his merman, but the realization of having a warm body pressed against his, calms him. A gentle kiss to the back of Cas’s neck stirs him awake. He turns in Dean’s arms and he’s greeted by Cas’s glorious smile.

“Hey,” Dean says. “How did you sleep?”

“I don’t know yet but I guess it was good.”

“No regrets so far?”

“You’re here, with me,” Cas says, “what more could I want?”

Dean slides his palm over the side of his face. “Likewise,” he says and kisses him on the lips. There’s no hurry. They’ve got nowhere to be but here, with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and your lovely comments! <3


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